


Despising Draco Malfoy

by WrtrGrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Harry Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Room of Requirement Shenanigans, Second War with Voldemort, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 74,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17918129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrtrGrl/pseuds/WrtrGrl
Summary: Draco is acting stranger than usual when it comes to Potter and his fellow Slytherins are determined to find out why. Hermione catches wind of a certain bet about her best friend and decides to take the Slytherins for all they're worth. An unfolding romance as told by Harry and Draco's friends.Expect drama, shenanigans and fluff.Updates once weekly around Sunday (sometimes more depending on my health).Cover art Credit: https://www.deviantart.com/upthehillart/art/School-boys-627882420





	1. A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Note to the reader:
> 
> This story has an experimental structure. The narrative is about Harry and Draco, but more often than not the chapters are from the POV of someone else. In the first 18 chapters there are 12 different POV's, and I still have more up my sleeve, so if you're not prepared to jump heads a bit then this story is not for you. 
> 
> The main narrator is usually Blaise, but I use pretty much whoever I feel is best suited to tell the story for that particular chapter. There's no pattern to the POV I'll be using next.
> 
> There are secrets and puzzle pieces behind the fluff, but rest assured that there is a method to my madness; and that (if you're willing to have a little patience) I'm sure that you'll enjoy this story. So far I've had a pretty positive response and I'm excited to share the rest with you. I have many plans and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story long Disclaimer: Hogwarts and all her characters belong to the wonderful J.K. I am, of course, just playing in her sandbox.

Chapter One

_A Beginning_

 

**_Snape:_ **

Loose stones scuffle down the street ahead of two figures as they walk down the crowded, cobblestoned street. Severus glances sideways at Draco, observing all the familiar signs of teenage surliness, and feeling just as ill-equipped to deal with it as he always has.

He contemplates opening a dialogue, but knows that Draco—like him—isn’t the type to suffer idle chit-chat, and without anything else but the obvious to speak about (which, neither of them seem willing to broach) Severus doesn’t see a way out of the excruciating awkwardness of silence.

He grits his teeth and resists the urge to sigh.

How is it he can manage the intricate web of lies he has to weave between serving Dumbledore and the Dark Lord without so much as breaking a sweat, and yet dealing with his Godson on a personal level has him at a loss of words?

Comfort has never been his strong suit.

He can almost picture Dumbledore’s non-too-subtle smug smile. ‘You need to get to know your students, Severus. To be a teacher you cannot merely teach. You must _connect_.’

Severus rolls his eyes. God, the man is insufferable. He can’t leave Severus alone even on his day off.

His thoughts are broken by the thickening of the crowd, and Severus is jostled sideways into Draco. He scowls, resisting the urge to snarl at the idiot woman who ran into him.

Draco, on the other hand, snaps out a sharp, ‘Watch it!’ that could cut through ice.

There’s a hint of that familiar Malfoy superiority in that tone, but mostly it’s just irritation, and Severus wonders if spending so much time with the boy really is a good thing after all.

_‘Lucius is taking this family down a path I fear we won’t come back from. He is no longer a man I want my son to emulate. I need you to guide him, Severus. I need you to be there for Draco where his father can’t be.’_

How could Narcissa ask him such a thing? Furthermore, how on _Earth_ did she think him any sort of role model? Every choice he has made in life has led to nothing but disappointment and, in some cases, death.

Despite his outward nature, his life is not one he would wish on his Godson.

Next to him, Draco pauses, and Severus turns in the direction that has caught his eye. Through the pressing crowd Severus catches a glimpse of a shiny broom handle, and yet again resists the urge to sigh.

‘Go on then,’ he mutters, and Draco’s gaze flashes over to him, somewhat sheepishly. ‘I’ll be in the apothecary when you’re done. Linger too long and you’ll be on your own.’

He adds the last part as an afterthought, half a threat and half a promise, and isn’t sure which way he intends to mean it. Besides, they both know that Severus is likely to spend just as much time browsing ingredients as Draco is ogling over broomsticks.

Draco throws him a grin (a rarity these days) and nods, ‘of course,’ he says, a smirk slips easily into place. ‘I would expect nothing less.’

Then he’s off, sauntering through the crowd toward the broom display, easily manoeuvring his way through the bodies—as if it were his born right to be at the head of that crowd.

Severus rolled his eyes. ‘Sorry Narcissa,’ he mutters under his breath. ‘But there are some things even I cannot undo.’

He slips into the stuffy, too-dark atmosphere of the little apothecary with a small sense of relief. It’s cool in the twilight of the store and there is perhaps one or two other people lurking in the shadowy corners of the aisles. _Much_ better.

‘Can I help—’

‘The usual Hogwarts supply,’ says Severus, cutting the little man off as he comes bustling up to him with an entirely too bright smile. ‘Plus extra of everything on the sixth year list—it’s all on the Hogwarts file,’ he adds at the baffled anxiety that spreads across the clerks face. ‘I’ll be in your rare and exotics section, I expect you’ll be done by the time I come back.’

The sputtering confusion isn’t as satisfying as it usually is, and Severus reflects that seeing as he is no longer Potions Master, it seems a waste of his time to still be doing the school’s shopping. Yet…he had agreed, hadn’t he? And why? He was glad of his new position. It was what he wanted. Furthermore it was what the Dark Lord wanted.

Dumbledore thinks he’s doing Severus a favour. That Severus _likes_ going to the apothecary, and, in fact, he does. Yet, that doesn’t stop him from seeing the truth. There’s only one reason he wanted Severus to do the task, and that is the fact that he doesn’t trust Slughorn. Not that Severus blames him. He doesn’t trust Slughorn either. After all, if it weren’t for _him_ than everything—the Dark Lord, the _war_ —would be very different.

His concentration is broken simultaneously by a shrill scream beyond the walls of the cramped little store, and by the familiar tingle of pain that itches along his left forearm that almost causes him to drop the jar he is holding.

‘Damnit,’ he hisses and shoves the jar back onto the shelf as several more screams fill the air.

The floor shudders barely a moment before the sound of an explosion pulses through the room.

Severus knows what’s happening, but not _why_? He knew nothing of an attack, though he knew others were clambering for one.

Bloody Bellatrix, he thinks, a second before he realises his biggest problem.

_Draco_.

Severus bursts out into the chaotic street. People shove and push, desperate to flee the bolts of reds, yellows and oranges being flung throughout the street. At the far end of the street Severus sees four people dressed in the familiar black robes of Death Eaters.

The window display where he’d left Draco is already empty, the mass of people having bolted. Severus scans the fleeing people for a flash of that white hair, but his godson is nowhere to be seen.

‘Damn,’ he mutters and turns sharply, away from his fellow Death Eaters and shoves through the crowd.

He thinks he hears a familiar cackle of laughter as the Death Eaters push through the street behind him. Glass shatters. Explosions shake the ground. People scream. He sees a flash of red as auror’s begin apparating in to defend the street. He hears a shout he recognises, and turns to see one of the Order darting out of a side alley to join the fight. He could stop to help. He _should_ stop to help.

But then what use would he be? Better to stay out of the spotlight and focus on finding Draco.

Severus darts into a nearby storefront where there’s a small crowd of people cowering in the back corner.

‘Are they still out there?’ someone asks, but Severus ignores them.

He’s trying to think. Draco is smart. Severus would like to think he’s smart enough to have gotten the hell out of Diagon Alley the minute the attack started. He knows Lucius has been training Draco to apparate but he has no idea whether or not the boy has mastered the ability.

Short of apparating, the only other options are Floo or portkey. Seeing that Severus has the portkey that brought them here (and the fact that Draco didn’t come to find him immediately) Severus can only assume that Draco was caught in the crowd and has decided on the former option.

Taking a quick look outside the store front, Severus sees the four hooded figures have split up. Two are engaged in a vicious duel with three red-robed aurors, the third is halfway down the street exchanging hexes with a pink-haired witch that can only be Nymphadora Tonks, and the forth is missing.

Another explosion rocks the street, and Severus is half thrown from the storefront from the force of it. He throws a hand up instinctively, protecting his face from the shower of glass as the windows shatter, though he barely hears the sound, being half deafened by the sound of the blast.

A shrill laugh echoes out from a street over, and Severus scowls.

‘Fucking Bellatrix,’ he snarls.

He hesitates, makes a split second decision to trust that Draco was smart enough to get the hell out of there, and darts down the street in the direction of the echoing blasts.

Cover or not, Bellatrix has to be taken care of.

He strides down the street, flinging shields and reinforcement spells at the buildings as he passes. He keeps his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself even as he grabs two teenagers by the scruff of their necks and shoves them toward the gaudy store front of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Both Weasley twins are there in the front, ushering people into the depths of the store, and one of them gives Severus a nod and a wink as they yank the two teens away from Severus and into the store.

‘We got it handled here,’ he says, and nods after echoing sounds of explosions.

Severus doesn’t respond, taking off down the street without a further thought to the duo. If anyone could handle themselves, it is those two; and even as he thinks this, one of the twins shouts something, and a small blast behind him erupts, filling the street with a pungent smell he recognises. Glancing back, a sliver of amusement trickles up his spine as he sees the knee high swamp that the street outside their shop has become.

That amusement vanishes though, as he rounds the corner and sees the blood strewn street beyond.

Two auror’s are engaged with Bellatrix, who is still laughing like a madwoman, and beyond her, in a widening pool of blood, lay Harry Potter and—to Severus’s horror—Draco.

His breath stops and he is frozen to the spot. Bellatrix is distracted by the auror’s and hasn’t seen him yet. He has time. Yet he doesn’t move. Conflict swarms through him as he realises he’ll have to choose. He’ll have to choose between either his godson, or the son of the woman he loved.

But before he can, before he can make this impossible choice, Draco (who hasn’t seen Severus enter the street) reaches out, his face contorting with pain as he grasps hold of the front of Potter’s robes and, with what is clearly a monumental effort, apparatus them away with a loud pop; leaving only two large smears of blood where the two of them had lain.


	2. Odd Behaviour

Chapter Two

_Odd Behaviour_

 

**_Hermione:_ **

Ron pushes down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, eager to find Harry’s compartment now that the prefects meeting is over. Not that he’d paid much attention. Hermione sighs and resists the urge to scold him. Honestly, he could at least _try_ to be grateful for the position.

She supposes, though, that at least he’d shown up. Unlike Draco Malfoy, who didn’t even bother to show his face.

Hermione makes a point of glancing in at the usual Slytherin compartment as they pass. Her eyes scan the room quickly through the open door before switching to the compartment across the hall when she doesn’t see him. They’ve stretched out across two compartments this year, leaving the doors open so conversation can pass between them.

Pansy Parkinson lounges in the doorway of the second compartment, and gives Hermione a high arched sniff of superiority. Hermione rolls her eyes and ignores her.

‘Shirking your responsibilities as usual, Malfoy?’ Ron says, pausing just outside the compartment to give Malfoy a disgusted look.

A flash of pale blonde hair catches Hermione’s eye as Malfoy glances out at them. A scowl flashes across his face, but he doesn’t say a word. He simply turns back to the window, his elbow propped up on the sill and resumes staring out at the flashing countryside.

Hermione frowns.

‘Why don’t you crawl back under that rock you came from, Weasley,’ Parkinson sneers.

Ron scoffs and continues on, shaking his head and seeming unbothered by the complete lack of response from Malfoy. Hermione glances back at the blonde once more, seeing the tautness to his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes. Eyes that meet hers in the reflection of the window. His gaze narrows, then flickers and drops.

‘Why don’t you take a picture?’ Parkinson scowls.

Hermione rolls her eyes again and follows Ron. The itching need to _know_ creeps up her spine and she has to squash it down. Besides, she has other things to worry about besides Malfoy’s unusual lack of need to be the centre of attention.

Like the group of girls heading towards them, giggling and whispering. Talking about Harry.

Hermione frowns, slowing her pace as she and Ron approach the girls.

‘—just have to try harder,’ one of the girls is saying.

‘Oh don’t worry,’ says a pretty girl with long brown hair, stopping outside a compartment door. ‘I’m not giving up. Harry’ll realise eventually that—‘

The girl cuts off as Hermione passes, giving Hermione a rather sour look and pointedly slipping inside and closing the door. Hermione raises her eyebrows, glancing back over her shoulder at them and wondering what exactly that was about.

Ron, of course, doesn’t notice and not for the first time Hermione wishes she was blessed with the same blissful ignorance with which Ron seems to breeze through life with. She wishes she could turn off her ability to observe. It’s like a curse. An irresistible curse. She sighs.

To her surprise, Ron glances back at her. ‘Alright?’

She offers him a faint smile. ‘I guess,’ she says. ‘Actually, I’m a bit worried.’

Ron pauses, turning sideways to look at her. ‘Worried? Why?’

She shifts her weight, eyes darting up and down the corridor (which isn’t empty). More than a few students are watching them, gazes curious as whispers echo around them. Ron frowns and glances about, only just seeming to notice. He scowls.

‘Vultures, can’t they see Harry’s not here,’ he mutters.

‘They aren’t looking for Harry,’ she says. ‘Well, they’re not _only_ looking for him. They’re staring at us.’

‘Us? Why?’

Ron’s complete bafflement is almost endearing.

‘Because of what happened at the Department of Mysteries. I expect Neville, Luna and Ginny will be receiving the same scrutiny.’

Ron snorts and shakes his head. ‘Bonkers,’ he says. ‘It’s all just bonkers. You’d think people would’ve forgotten all about that with all the attacks there’s been this summer.’

‘Not really,’ says Hermione. ‘After all, the Department of Mysteries is where it all started. Now that Voldemort is out in the open, the attacks are only going to get worse.’

‘They’re already getting worse,’ Ron mutters, and rubs at a lingering bruise on his arm. ‘So what’re you worried about?’

She draws level with him and keeps her voice low. ‘Actually, it’s about the attack…and how Harry went missing.’

Ron frowns, then he sighs and rolls his eyes. ’Harry?’ he asks. ‘C’mon ‘Mione, you’re not still on about what happened at the Alley are you?’

She purses her lips and glares at him. ‘Yes I _am_ still on about that. You don’t think it’s strange? You don’t think it’s weird that he can’t explain where he was? Even to _us_.’

‘Jesus Hermione, it was an _attack_ , he got _lost_. Hell we _all_ got lost. Give him a break. Don’t you think he’s dealing with enough at the moment?’

Somehow Hermione manages not to throttle him. Of _course_ Harry was dealing with enough and that is exactly _why_ she’s worried about him. She grits her teeth and hisses at him, ’Lost for _four hours_ , Ron? In Diagon Alley? I’ve asked him about it and he can’t even describe where he was. Not to mention that limp—’

‘So he sprained his ankle! He was running from Death Eaters. I think he was more concerned with getting away from them than remembering _exactly_ where he was.’

‘What about the blood? What if something happened and he doesn’t remember, Ron? What if someone _did_ something to him?’

‘Jesus Hermione,’ he says again, and shakes is head. ‘Look, I get it. You’re freaked out. _Everybody_ is freaked out. But Harry’s already told us everything that happened. He’s _fine._ Just let it go, would you?’

Hermione does let it go, but only because they’ve arrived at the compartment. Instead she observes. And she notices.

Harry sits inside next to Neville and across from Luna. There are shadows under his eyes, like there have been the last two weeks, and Hermione wonders just how much sleep he’s getting between the nightmares that aren’t as secret as he and Ron think they are.

Fine. Bah!

Ron drops into the seat next to Harry, nodding at Luna and Neville, leaving Hermione to sit across from them.

‘Hi Neville, hi Luna. Guess what?’ Ron adds, turning to Harry. ‘Malfoy’s not doing prefect duty. He’s just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed.’

Harry sits up straight and it’s the liveliest Hermione has seen him in days. Except there’s a tightness around his mouth and eyes. He clenches his jaw, a reaction she recognises as him trying to hide pain.

She narrows her eyes.

‘Really?’ Harry asks. ‘Why?’ _What’s wrong?_

For a moment Hermione swears he says the last two words. It’s in his voice, in the upward infection of an unfinished sentence, in the concern that flashes across his face and underlines his tone. It’s in his eyes and the way he shifts forwards slightly, fixated on Ron’s response.

Ron, as usual, doesn’t notice. Instead he shrugs and leans back in his seat.

‘Dunno. Stupid git’s just making more work for the rest of us of course. Not like him, though, is it? Why isn’t he out there bullying first-years?’

‘Dunno,’ says Harry, but he looks distracted, his gaze falling away from them as he chews on the inside of his mouth.

‘It was odd,’ says Hermione, and pretends not to notice the intensity in Harry’s gaze as it snaps back to her.

‘Odd?’

She shrugs, dragging her answer out, watching for Harry’s reaction. ‘He didn’t say anything when we walked passed. Ron, of course, made some snide comment—‘

‘I did not—’

‘Yes, you did. Anyway, you know how he is. Normally he’d bite back and say something perfectly horrid, but instead he just…ignored us.’

A frown draws Harry’s brows together. ‘Oh,’ he says, and chews on the inside of his mouth.

‘Git,’ Ron mutters.

‘Perhaps it’s more wrackspurts,’ Luna suggests. ‘Harry had one earlier.’

Hermione raises her eyebrows, but knows better than to argue with the odd Ravenclaw. She shakes her head and says,

‘Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad? Maybe being a prefect seems a bit tame after that.’

‘Maybe,’ Harry mutters, and he glances up.

Uncertainty flashes across his face. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting around the compartment before fixing back on Hermione’s face.

‘You don’t think—‘

The compartment door slides open and a breathless third-year girl steps inside.

‘I’m supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom and Harry P-Potter,’ she falters, as her eyes meet Harry’s and she turns scarlet.

She’s holding out two scrolls of parchment tied with violet ribbon.

Whatever Harry was going to say is lost to the perplexing expression that replaces his uncertainty. He and Neville take the scrolls addressed to each of them and the girl stumbles back out of the compartment.

Ron leans over. ‘What is it?’ he demands as Harry unrolls his.

‘An invitation,’ says Harry and he sounds confused.

‘Who’s Professor Slughorn?’ asks Neville, looking confusedly at his own invitation.

‘New teacher,’ says Harry. ‘Suppose we’ll have to go, won’t we?’

He sounds disappointed, and Hermione doesn’t blame him. Though she suspects they are disappointed for different reasons.

‘But what does he want me for?’ asks Neville nervously, as though he is expecting detention.

Harry shrugs. ‘Let’s just get it over with.’

He sounds tired, and as he pushes up to his feet he winces. He keeps his weight shifted to one side and Hermione notices the way he takes care to keep his arm away from his ribs. His eyes catch hers, before dropping away again.

She can’t help it. As he pushes out of the compartment with Neville on his heel, she thinks of Malfoy, and the similar way he had looked at her.

Hermione bites her lip and not for the first time this summer she wonders what Harry’s thinking.


	3. Snivelling Sycophants

Chapter Three

_Snivelling Sycophants_

 

**_Ginny:_ **

Horace Slughorn, Ginny decides, is nothing but a snivelling sycophant. She leans against the wall behind the man, her nose wrinkled as she watches him gush over the boys in the compartment, one by one. Of course, she’s the only girl; and only because he happened to be walking by when she hexed that arrogant prat Zacharius Smith.

She shifts her weight and rolls her wand between her fingers, listening as Slughorn starts on about Harry and the Department of Mysteries. If Slughorn wasn’t a teacher, she’d show him just how good her Bat-Bogey hex is right up close.

Zabini gives a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused scepticism. Fire burns in Ginny’s gut and she glares at the tall Slytherin boy.

‘Yeah Zabini, because _you’re_ so talented…at posing…’ she says fiercely.

She means it too, he _is_ good at posing. Shame he’s such an arrogant jerk, or she might be inclined to think him attractive.

‘Oh dear!’ chuckles Slughorn comfortably, looking around at Ginny. ‘You want to be careful, Blaise! I saw this young lady perform the most marvellous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn’t cross her!’

Zabini merely looks contemptuous. Ginny crosses her arms and glowers at him.

‘Anyway,’ says Slughorn, turning back to Harry. ‘ _Such_ rumours this summer of the Department of Mysteries. Of course, there’s the summer attacks as well. You were there, too, weren’t you? At Diagon Alley?’

‘Yeah,’ mutters Zabini. ‘Him and most the school.’

Ginny scowls. Maybe she’d show _him_ her hex up close too. Except he has a point. It wasn’t as if Harry was the only one there when Diagon Alley was attacked. He certainly wasn’t the only student.

‘Yes of course—but Harry, there in the thick of it all? So many sensational stories. In fact, I heard that you took on Bellatrix herself—’

A strange look crosses Harry’s face at Bellatrix’s name. ‘I…sorry, I don’t feel well,’ he says, cutting off Slughorn.

He certainly doesn’t _look_ well. His face has gone white and he looks as though he might throw up.

Zabini and McLaggin jerk back out of his way sharply as Harry makes for the door.

‘Harry?’ Neville says, but he’s already gone.

‘Goodness,’ says Slughorn. ‘Something I said?’

Zabini snorts. ‘Precious Potter being a drama queen.’

The burning in Ginny’s gut swells, and she flicks her wand at Zabini, who winces.

Slughorn is wavering, staring after Harry. ‘Perhaps I should—’

‘I’ll go,’ says Ginny sharply, taking a pointed step toward the door and blocking Slughorn’s path.

The last thing Harry needs right now is some grovelling teacher fawning over him. Honestly. It’s like Lockhart all over again.

A shiver of something unpleasant trickles down Ginny’s spine at the thought of her first year at Hogwarts. She squashes it though. Reminds herself of why she was invited to this stupid club in the first place. She was strong. She had a near-perfect Bat-Bogey hex. She could cast a Patronus. She would never let anyone fool her the way Tom Riddle had.

She pushes down the emptying corridor, blinking away dark memories and trying to the think of things that made her laugh—like Fred and George had taught her to do. At least the lunch rush is over, making it easier to manoeuvre the corridor outside.

Still, there are enough students lingering about in the corridor that by the time she blinks away the memories, Harry is already pushing through the doors between carriages.

Ginny flicks out her wand again and glares at the nearest person in her way. ‘Move,’ she barks.

She reaches the end of the carriage just in time to see Malfoy yanking Harry back into the small, shifting space between the two carriages.

‘I’ll deal with him,’ Malfoy says over his shoulder, hauling Harry by the back of his robes and pulling the door shut behind him. He turns his head and mutters, ‘Don’t you dare throw up on me, Potter.’

Ginny quickens her pace, hand tightening around her wand, a hex on the tip of her tongue.

Harry sinks to the shifting floor, slipping out of Malfoy’s grasp, his breath hitching. ‘I…I can’t—’

Malfoy glances back over his shoulder. ‘Jesus Potter, get your shit together before the other’s show up!’

‘Can’t…can’t breath…’

Malfoy crouches and mutters something Ginny can’t hear. She reaches the door, flinging it open, her wand pointed straight down into Malfoy’s surprised face.

‘Get away from him,’ she snarls.

Shock blends into annoyance. Malfoy glances at Harry, who doesn’t seem to have noticed Ginny at all. Worry creeps into his expression, and angers surges in Ginny’s gut.

‘What did you do to him?’

’Me?’ Malfoy snaps, anger flashing in those cool steel eyes.

Shoving him aside—which isn’t easy in the small space they’re squeezed into—Ginny crouches down next to Harry.

‘Harry?’

He’s staring at Malfoy, green eyes wide behind his glasses. He blinks once, twice, and suddenly his gaze clears.

‘Ginny?’ he asks, his voice small.

Malfoy stands up, glaring at her, affecting an air of disgust and disinterest. ‘Keep your saviour on a leash,’ he snaps. ‘The rest of us don’t need him causing catastrophe everywhere he goes.’

Ginny jabs her wand at him, but Malfoy is already out the door, shoving off through to the safety of the other Slytherins.

‘Harry? Ginny?’ Neville pokes his head in from the direction they came, worry etched into his face. ‘Are you guys okay?’

‘Yeah,’ says Harry, pushing to his feet.

He sounds like himself again, but Ginny frowns at him as he brushes himself off. He offers her a weak smile.

‘Sorry,’ he says sheepishly. ‘I’m okay, really.’

She crosses her arms and glares after Malfoy. ‘What did he do to you?’ she asks.

Harry shrugs. ‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘It was my fault. Really. Come on, let’s get back to the others.’

Ginny is ready to argue with him, to demand what exactly happened, when he casts her a sideways look and adds, ‘I expect you’ll be wanting to get back to Dean?’

The thought of her boyfriend—who she has barely seen all summer—washes away the irritation of the last hour. She grins and pushes off into the train.

‘Well, come on then!’


	4. The First Bet

Chapter Four

_The First Bet_

 

 

**_Blaise:_ **

Draco isn’t paying attention. He hasn’t been paying attention since they got to Hogwarts two days earlier and, really, it’s not as if he doesn’t have plenty of good reasons (what with his father is in Azkaban, and his psychotic Aunt is living at his house), except this time it’s during their assignment in potions and Blaise is suddenly struck by the fact that Draco has put the wrong ingredient in their potion.

‘What did you just do?’ he asks, staring at the ingredients left on the table—the nuts he has been studiously crushing while Draco was _supposed_ to be adding the dried thistle.

But there’s the thistle, sitting in its neat little pile, and the powdered crows eggs are notably missing. Blaise stifles a groan and reads through his notes.

‘Draco,’ he elbows his friend. ‘What did you just add?’

‘What?’ Draco blinks, his attention refocusing on Blaise with a tad of irritation and more than a little distraction. ‘What do you want?’

‘The potion, Draco. What did you add?’

Draco looks down at the table, grey eyes confused and—yes, still distracted. His gaze flickers to the other side of the room, almost without him realising. Blaise follows the direction of the glance and can’t help the small smirk that twitches at his lips.

Hell, he’d outright grin if he didn’t think that Draco had just cost them the assignment (worth twenty percent of their grade, no less; and honestly, who knew that Slughorn and Snape shared a predilection for setting high mark assignments at the start of the school year?).

‘Shit,’ says Draco, eyes back on their table, and he’s all attention now, frantically trying to rectify his mistake. ‘ _Fuck_.’

Blaise rolls his eyes and abandons crushing the ingredients. It’s doomed now anyway, and besides, Draco’s scurrying to the ingredients cupboard has caught Potter’s attention. Green eyes track Draco’s movements, and Potter’s gaze isn’t as hostile as it once used to be. It’s soft, and confused, and almost…Blaise wants to say worried. But why on earth would _Potter_ be worried about _Draco_?

Theo leans back in his chair and without turning around says, ’How bad is it?’

Blaise grins, sticks his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his palm. ‘The potion or this obsession with Potter?’

This time Theo looks back, and there’s a smidge of amusement lurking in the depths of his usually bland expression. He glances at the ruined potion, bubbling a furious indigo instead of the soft simmering orange it’s supposed to be, and gestures to his own potion.

‘Need a hand?’

‘That would be cheating,’ Blaise remarks, but, the minute Slughorn’s back is turned, he vanishes the failed potion.

Smooth and swift, Theo magic’s some of his and Daphne’s potion straight into Blaise’s cauldron. Daphne—studiously perusing her notes—doesn’t seem to notice. Neither does Slughorn.

Honestly, the man might be some sort of grand potions master, but he has nothing on Snape’s attentiveness.

‘I don’t believe I gave you permission to use _our_ potion,’ Daphne says in her soft, unobtrusive tone.

She doesn’t look up from her notes, and Blaise winces. Theo glances back at Blaise and shrugs.

After a moment, Blaise sighs and asks, ‘What’s your price?’

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat and finally glances back. ‘What makes you think I have one?’

‘Most people usually do.’

‘What if I just want to see you fail for once?’ she asks, cocking her head, vivid eyes pinning him in place.

Blaise shrugs, calling her bluff. Of all the Slytherin’s, Daphne was the most uninterested (aside from him, of course) in the usual power games within the House.

As he suspects, she rolls her eyes and gives him a real answer. ‘Ten galleons…and your mother’s rune book. One day, no questions.’

Blaise narrows his eyes at her, wondering what exactly she would want from his mother’s grimoire. Deciding that there wasn’t much in there that could cause any harm (unless one were married and needed to get rid of their spouse, which Daphne wasn’t), he sighs and gives her a slight nod.

He turns back to Theo’s curious expression and says. ‘Great, now not only has he cost me my potion, but now he’s costing me _money_. This getting ridiculous.’

Theo’s mouth quirks in what is _almost_ a grin, and he focuses back on his potion long enough to make the correct step. Blaise mimics him, tossing the ingredients in with slightly more force than is required.

As he’s doing so, Potter gets up and wanders idly toward the ingredients cupboard. The motion catches Blaise’s attention—and, he notes with satisfaction, Theo and Daphne’s (though she’s pretending not to notice)—and the three of them watch as Potter disappears into the small pantry where Draco is _still_ looking for ingredients.

What Blaise wouldn’t give to have a couple of those handy Extendable Ears he’s heard the Weasley twins selling.

There’s a loud clatter, and the entire class shifts it’s attention to the cupboard as smoke and dust billows out of the door, Potter and Draco bursting out in a fit of coughing.

Slughorn observes them for a moment with the familiar cool eyed Slytherin gaze. ‘What’s going on?’

Too busy spluttering, neither boy answers.

Theo glances across at Daphne, and then back at Blaise. ‘Ten galleons says Draco started it, but pins it on Potter,’ he says and Blaise can hear the solicitous smirk in his voice.

A grin of his own twitches into place, and he too glances at Daphne. She shakes her head and resumes dealing with the ingredients. Betting was yet another thing Daphne didn’t spare time for.

Blaise, however, rather enjoyed a good bet. Besides, a quick glance at Potter and Draco has him sure that he isn’t going to end up out of pocket for Draco’s mistake after all.

‘Done,’ he says, and Theo smirks as if Blaise is the easiest sucker in Slytherin.

Maybe he is. Yet, Blaise suspects that Draco’s continued odd behaviour is going to be in his favour this time.

Potter is glancing sideways at Draco, a confused expression on his usually open and _very_ readable face. Draco, likewise, looks baffled. That is, if one knows what to look for. There’s the way his scowl doesn’t quite measure up to par, and the slight tilt to his head as he blinks away dust and scattered ingredients to frown at Potter.

Slughorn coughs expectantly and Potter’s head snaps back up, as if he’s only just remembered they’re in the middle of class. He blinks owlishly and rubs at his glasses.

‘Sorry?’

Slughorn sighs. ‘What happened?’

‘Oh…er…’ Potter’s gaze flickers back at Draco and there’s another flash of that concern Blaise noticed earlier.

Draco isn’t looking at him, but he rolls his eyes and straightens up.

‘It was my fault,’ says Draco, and Blaise hears Pansy’s intake of breath behind him. ‘I knocked the shelf.’

‘No,’ says Potter, frowning. ‘I startled him. It was an accident.’

Slughorn raises an eyebrow. ‘Fine, then you can both stay back and clean it up.’

Potter winces, and glances sideways at Draco again. ‘Er, right.’

Draco sighs and without looking at Potter, trudges back to their desk. Frustration tightens his shoulders and the scowl is back at full volume, but there’s still that lingering confusion in his gaze.

He slides into his seat and Blaise is relieved to see that he at least managed to find the ingredients that need replacing before he and Potter ruined the storage cupboard.

As Draco continues to work on the potion—in the correct order this time—Theo mutters something foul under his breath. Blaise smirks.

At the end of class, he weighs the little bag of coins that Theo slips into his palm with faint satisfaction. Daphne gives Blaise a meaningful look as she passes, eyes flickering down to the little purse, and he waves her off. He’ll have to give up the little bag (not to mention his mother’s grimoire), but for now he would enjoy the satisfaction of the win. He was still the betting King.

‘What’ve you been betting on now?’ Draco asks, sounding exasperated.

But when Blaise glances up at him, Draco isn’t looking. He’s watching Potter again, a small frown creasing his brow as the other boy heads out of the classroom, flanked by his two sidekicks.

There’s something in Draco’s expression that Blaise can’t quite identify, and he contemplates saying something outrageous just to see if he’s paying attention.

‘Nothing important,’ he says.

‘Hm? Oh,’ says Draco, and swings his bag up over his shoulder, and trudges after the Golden Trio.

Theo steps up next to Blaise, watching Draco go. ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘This is starting to get unhealthy.’

Blaise snorts. ‘It’s _always_ been unhealthy. Now it’s just weird.’


	5. Unusual Punishments

Chapter Five

_Unusual Punishments_

 

**_Madam Pomfrey:_ **

The Hospital Wing echoes in blissful silence. Nothing but the clean smell of fresh sheets and the soft _snick, snick_ of her shoes pervades the air as Poppy Pomfrey performs some long overdue maintenance spells. There are no patients to deal with. No first years suffering from some mishap or other, no home sickness, no first day potions accidents (for the first time in _fifteen_ years—and isn’t _that_ an interesting coincidence…) and Poppy relishes in the unexpected peace and quiet.

Really, she should have realised it was too good to be true.

The doors burst open as she’s halfway through a restorative spell on the floors. She half turns, glancing back, only to turn fully when she sees not a first year but none other than Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy—both sporting bloody faces and a multitude of bruises—being ushered into the room by a scowling Severus Snape.

She sighs and wonders why she’s even surprised.

‘What happened?’ she asks, and flicks her wand at two beds and summons both boy’s files.

‘That,’ growls Severus, shoving both boys toward the beds. ‘Is an _excellent_ question. What exactly _did_ happen?’

Both teens wince. They glance at each other and away again, neither one saying a word. Poppy raises her eyebrows at the unusual silence that stretches between them.

Hesitation has never been either boy’s preference. In fact, they’re almost always too eager to blame each other for whatever scrape they’ve managed to get themselves into.

Now, though, they sink into their respective beds and look at the floor—rather like five year olds too nervous to say or do anything. Blood drips from Potter’s nose and, with an impatient huff, Poppy contours a napkin for him.

He offers her a half-hearted smile of thanks and presses it to his nose, tilting his head backwards.

She glances across at Malfoy, and likewise, contours a second clothe for his temple. He doesn’t offer her a smile. He scowls across at Potter with broody eyes. It’s not a hostile expression, exactly.

‘Well?’ barks Severus.

Malfoy drops his glare to the floor. Potter clenches his teeth and frowns at the ceiling. Neither one says a word.

Watching them, Poppy thinks that Malfoy is the worse off of the two of them, despite Potter’s bleeding nose. He’s holding his arm to his chest, his movements stiff and minimal. She remembers the last time he was in with broken bones and decides to start with him, lest he decide a reenactment is required.

She waves her arm in an intricate motion. Light flows out from her wand and she watches various points on his body glow in varying shades of purple. Bruises. There are four yellow spots indicating fractures (all on his ribs), two orange points for breaks (one on his hand, the other further up his arm) and three red indicators for gashes, all small, two on his temple and one on his arm near one of the breaks.

She purses her lips.

Severus glowers, but Poppy sees the way his eyes flick over the results, and how his shoulders tighten.

‘Fine,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘If you will not explain exactly _how_ my classroom ended up in the state it was in, then you will both serve detention every night for the next month repairing every single damaged item until it is _exactly_ the way it was before.’

Another wince. Deepening frowns. Yet, still no explanation. Poppy wonders just how much damage the two of them inflicted to warrant a months worth of reparations.

The door bangs open again, and Poppy glances toward it, unsurprised to see Minerva stalking into the room. Surprisingly, there’s no sign of Albus. Poppy glances across at the two files—Malfoy’s is open as the results of Poppy’s spells self-record in the file—and recalls all the times she’s tried to approach Albus about the issue of Potter and Malfoy. An idea forms in her mind, and suddenly she’s quite glad that Albus hasn’t bothered to show up.

‘Ah, Minevera,’ Severus says, his tone at odds with his words. ‘I was just deciding how many points to dock. What do you think? Two hundred each?’

Poppy’s gaze snaps upwards. Two hundred? Barely a week into the school year and both houses would be in negatives. Still, she knows it’ll do no good. It never has in the past. This rivalry runs deeper than house rivalry and really, yelling and lecturing clearly isn’t going to resolve their issues.

Minerva looks between the two boys expectantly. Faint tingles of magic waft out from her. Poppy pauses in her spells, glancing over at her. Minerva’s expression is tight control, but, if her magic is anything to go by, she’s absolutely _livid_. As livid as Poppy’s ever seen her.

‘Well?’ she asks, and her accent thickens. ‘What do you have to say for yourselves?’

Again, silence.

The doors, yet _again_ , start to open. Without looking, Minerva flicks out her wand and snaps out a sharp spell, slamming it in the faces of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Potter glances up for the first time, and a flash of relief crosses those green eyes as the door locks. Poppy frowns. While no one is looking, she flicks her wand at Potter’s file and notes the reaction.

‘I expected more of you,’ Minerva says. ‘Especially you, Potter.’

Malfoy scoffs, then winces as Poppy’s spell closes two of the gashes.

‘Serves you right,’ Severus snaps. ‘What were you thinking? Do you ever listen? Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?’ Severus shakes his head and adds in a low voice. ‘After everything, I would have thought you’d know better by now.’

Malfoy’s head snaps up, indignation bright in his cheeks, and says, ‘It’s not _my_ fault! _He_ —‘ he stops, glances across at Potter and his jaw snaps shut over whatever he is about to say.

‘Me? You started it!’

‘Oh fuck off, maybe if you weren’t pretending—‘ Malfoy cuts himself off again and scowls furiously. ‘Why don’t you tell them what _really_ happened?’

‘What’s to tell, they already know you’re an asshole.’

They glare at each other and a crackle of energy flashes between them. Poppy twitches her wand and both boy’s flinch. It’s just a stinging hex, but it’s enough to break the tension.

‘That’s better,’ Poppy says, her tone calm but reprimanding. ‘Honestly, you’re acting like children. Are you sixth years or not?’

They flush and the room is thrown back into silence.

She shakes her head and turns to Potter. ‘Alright,’ she says. ‘If you’re quite done, it’s your turn.’

Something dark flashes across those green eyes as she starts the process of identifying all the usual suspects. Poppy frowns. Whilst wariness was a typical reaction of Potter in his early years, he hasn’t looked at her quite like that in quite some time. IThe reaction begs quite a few questions.

So, too, do his results.

She stiffens.

Like Malfoy, Potter has several cracked ribs, his nose is broken and he’s covered in varying shades of bruises. It’s the other indicators, however, that fill her with dread. Several of his organs light up in green and his back is covered in layers of pinks and dark red. This isn’t fresh—in fact, from the shades of the colours she’d say they’re several weeks old. Just what in the name of Merlin has he been doing?

‘Well,’ Minerva says, ‘Since neither of you are willing to offer a reasonable explanation then I cannot help but agree with Professor Snape’s suggestion. Two hundred points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor—‘ both boys jerk, their eyes widening comically at the pronouncement. ‘In all my years at Hogwarts I have _never_ seen such a display of destructive behaviour. This is _completely_ unacceptable. I’ve half a mind to suspend _both_ of you.’

Silence. Malfoy glares at the floor, Potter glares at the ceiling. Aside from the direction of their stares, they’re almost identical in posture. Their shoulders are tense, waiting for the inevitable. They both _believe_ they’ll be suspended. Yet still no answer is forthcoming.

‘Minerva,’ Poppy says, tilting her head away from the beds. ‘Might I have a word?’

Potter’s gaze snaps back down, and he lowers the bloody cloth he’s been holding on his nose to stare at her.

Minerva narrows her eyes at him, but nods at Poppy and they move away from the beds.

‘I think,’ says Poppy, once they’re out of hearing range. ‘That we’ve come to the point were detention and point taking isn’t working.’

Minerva sighs. ‘Yes, I know. I’ve spoken to Albus but he seems to think there’s nothing else that can be done.’

Poppy rolls her eyes. ‘Two files full of injury accounts from the constant fights and there’s “nothing else that can be done”. Honestly, sometimes I wonder about that man. Well, I’m not convinced. There’s something they aren’t telling us, and I think I might have a solution to finding it out. Might even cure this rivalry they can’t seem to get enough of.’

She explains her idea, and some of the frustration seeps out of Minerva’s expression. A small smile twitches at the corners of her lips. She looks over at the two boys, a contemplative expression in her eyes.

Potter is still watching them, worry etched into his features. Malfoy is pretending to glare at a cupboard, but his gaze keeps flicking toward them.

Minerva smiles. ‘Sometimes I forget you were a Slytherin,’ she says, glancing sideways at Poppy.

‘Everyone always does.’

Severus eyes them as they head back over to the beds, dark eyes glancing between them with narrowed interest. Potter fidgets with the bed covers, his gaze flicking back and forth behind his glasses.

Minerva takes a steady look at them both. ‘Still determined to stay silent?’ she asks.

Potter glances across at Malfoy and chews his lip. Malfoy doesn’t meet his gaze. Doesn’t look at anything except the bloody clothe in his hands.

‘Very well,’ says Minerva. ‘In that case, seeing as you two can’t seem to behave in an adequate manner when separated, you can now look forward to getting better acquainted. Consider yourselves partnered in all subjects from this moment on.’

Heads snap up and jaws drop.

‘ _What?’_ come two simultaneous shouts and Minerva lifts her head, eyes glittering in satisfaction.

‘You can’t be _serious_?’ says Malfoy, gaping at the Gryffindor woman.

Even Severus looks stunned. ‘Minerva, surely—’

She cuts off Severus with a tone that whip cracks through the air. ‘Oh I’m _quite_ serious. Seeing as we can’t seem to pry you two apart without there being untold violence spread throughout my halls, I’m going to grant you your wish. You can expect your new timetables in the morning.’

‘But—‘

‘ _No_ but’s, Mr. Potter. I’ve had quite enough of this appalling behaviour.’

Potter winces, dropping his gaze back to the floor and muttering something vaguely apologetic. Malfoy, on the other hand, is still outraged. He stares between Minerva and Potter with a horrified expression.

‘You can’t do this,’ he says. ‘You can’t just change our classes—‘

‘I can and I _will_ , Mr Malfoy. Perhaps you should of thought of that before you both _destroyed_ a classroom.’

Destroyed a classroom? Poppy raises her eyebrows and glances between the two boys.

‘Poppy,’ Minerva continues. ‘I leave them with you for the evening. Heal the broken bones of course, but leave them with everything else. Let it serve as an example to the younger years that this sort of violence _will not_ be tolerated any longer.’

With that, Minerva spun on her heel and stalked out, leaving the two boy’s sitting dumbfounded. Without sparing his students a second look, Severus follows her out—no doubt to try and change her mind about this unusual punishment.

‘Oh that’s just…’ Malfoy slouches back into the bed, scowling furiously.

Potter, on the other hand, is watching Poppy. His eyes are guarded, and keep flicking to his file where her quill is still scribbling out notes. He chews the inside of his mouth. Runs a hand through his hair. Sighs.

‘You didn’t tell her, did you,’ he says in a quiet voice, not quite meeting her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow. Across from Potter, Malfoy stops grumbling. His eyes fix on Poppy and she has the unsettling feeling that he knows _exactly_ what Potter is talking about.

She purses her lips, but before she can say anything, the door opens again and Granger and Weasley push into the room, scanning the room anxiously for Potter.

Green eyes flicker toward them from behind broken glasses and, if possible, his shoulders slump even more.

‘Hey guys,’ he mutters, sounding anything but happy to see them.

Poppy frowns. She pats him on the shoulder once, and goes to fetch some potions. They’re both going to need them.

‘Mate,’ Ron says, grinning widely. ‘Hope you gave as good as you got?’

‘What’re you blind as well as stupid, Weasley?’

‘What’d you say?’

‘I _said_ are you blind, as well as stupid? Or did you think that I smashed up my own face?’

Poppy pauses, glancing back over her shoulder at the four students and debating whether or not it’s safe to leave the room unattended.

‘Oh alright,’ Potter says sharply, grabbing Weasley’s arm and shooting Malfoy a pointed glare. ‘I think we’re in enough trouble for one day, don’t you?’

Weasley’s fists are clenched, and despite Potter’s restraining hand, he leans forward toward Malfoy.

‘Are we going to have an issue here?’ Poppy calls, before Weasley can start the fight he’s building up to.

‘No, Madam Pomfrey,’ Potter says quickly, glaring pointedly at his friends.

Malfoy glances at them and scoffs, but he stays silent.

Poppy keeps one ear turned to the main room as she rummages about for the potions she needs. The conversation, for the most part, is quiet until Potter’s voice echoes out, tired and exasperated.

‘Jesus, Hermione are you really bringing that up _now_?’

‘I didn’t mean—‘

‘ _Nothing_ happened in Diagon Alley and _nothing_ happened today, okay? It was a fight, that’s all! Just leave it alone!’

‘But—’

‘I think that’s quite enough,’ says Poppy, entering the room again before the argument can escalate any further. ‘I have my hands full enough without you two adding more stress to my patients. They need to heal, you can see Mr Potter tomorrow.’

‘But—’ Weasley tries again, but Poppy gives him a quelling look. ‘Just five minutes?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she says, and nods to the doors out of the Hospital Wing. ‘Out, now.’

Potter’s friends sigh and take themselves out, throwing Potter reassuring glances as they go. Potter just stares after them, shoulders drooping.

Poppy hands out several potions to each boy and waits until they start drinking. Malfoy sniffs at his cautiously, glancing up at her warily, unlike Potter who downs his without hesitation—having been through this routine many a time before.

‘Now, first,’ she says when they’ve both finished. ‘You’re going to tell me exactly what happened earlier today. Then, you’re going to explain everything else.’

‘Everything else?’ Potter asks, but his tone isn’t fooling anyone.

She simply raises an eyebrow at him.

Malfoy sighs. ‘You want to know what happened at Diagon Alley,’ he says in a resigned voice.

Potter shoots him a glare that speaks _volumes_.

Malfoy shrugs. ‘What? It’s not like she can tell anyone, right?’ He glances at her, grey eyes cool and guarded. ‘Everything we say is protected by patient confidentiality.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘Yes, that is correct.’

Malfoy nods, and then, despite Potter’s clear unwillingness, he tells her _everything_.


	6. Not Withstanding

Chapter Six

_Not Withstanding_

 

**_Harry:_ **

At first, Harry doesn’t recognise the attacks for what they are. They come in bursts, striking out of no where (at night, for the most part, and Harry is thankful for small mercies) and leaving him gasping and sweaty and shaking. His heart hammers in his chest and he can’t quite expand his lungs enough to breathe. He thinks he might pass out, but just as the blackness is creeping into the edges of his vision, the all-consuming panic subsides and he’s okay again.

Well, as okay as he can be when his whole world has done a 180 on him.

He doesn’t tell anyone about them, and that, he knows, is his first mistake because it doesn’t take long for them to get worse.

It doesn’t take long for them to start happening when he’s awake.

The first one happens on the train. The mere mention of _Her_ name sending him bolting from Slughorn’s stupid party and straight into Malfoy and his friends.

The second one happens in Potions. He’s trying to ask Malfoy _why_. He’s confused and wants answers, but before he can even get the words out, he starts thinking about what happened. About _Her_. And he starts to shake. He knocks into a shelf and the whole thing comes tumbling down around them.

The third time happens slowly.

They’re duelling in DADA and Snape once again interrupts Harry and Ron’s duel. It’s starting to become a habit.

‘What kind of spellwork do you call _that_ , Weasley?’ Snape says, and—without warning—steps into Ron’s place. Brushing Harry’s friend aside as if he’s nothing.

In their first class of the year, Harry barked out a shield charm so strong it knocked Snape off balance. He’d said it verbally, though, and it had cost him detention. This time he sees what’s coming and clenches his jaw, readjusting his grip on his wand, and reaches for his magic. Yet when Snape swoops in, there’s something in the movement that throws Harry’s memory backwards.

The swish of the cape, the arch of his wand, and suddenly, Harry is back in Diagon Alley. He falters. Looses his grip on his magic. Doesn’t have time to get it back, to make the wand movements and raise a shield.

Snape’s spell flashes toward him and Harry is frozen. _Useless_. It’s going to hit him. It’s going to hit him and…and it doesn’t.

The faint yellow shield shimmers into place just a fraction of a second before the spell hits it, fizzling out harmlessly against the barrier between Harry and Snape.

Snape narrows his eyes. Behind him Ron is grinning, giving Harry a thumbs up and across from Ron, Hermione is giving Harry one of those “don’t-do-anything-stupid” looks that she thinks works. Around them, their own duels forgotten, various members of Harry’s House and year are watching. Most of them (the Gryffindor’s and DA members) are nodding appreciatively, never doubting in Harry’s ability to always defend.

Yet…yet his wand, still pointed at Snape, didn’t move. Snape is staring at it, and Harry knows that he knows.

Harry didn’t cast that shield.

His chest heaves and he feels light headed with too much oxygen.

Snape’s gaze flickers over Harry’s shoulder, narrows, and then darts away again.

‘Seems you _are_ capable of listening after all, Potter,’ Snape says. He glances around the room. ‘What are you all waiting for? Class is over. Get out.’

He turns on his heel, cloak billowing out behind him. Ron shuffles over to Harry’s side and watches the man go.

‘You’d think he’d give up by now, the great git,’ he says, and nudges Harry, not even noticing that he’s barely in control. ‘But you show’d him, eh?’

Harry concentrates on breathing evenly and tries to think about something else. Something other than _Her_. The shield. Who cast the shield?

Clearly, it wasn’t Ron, or he’d be crowing about getting one over on Snape. Harry shifts, glancing toward the back of the classroom. Whoever had cast the spell had to have been behind him, ruling out Ron, Hermione and most the DA. Which only left a few Ravenclaws Harry didn’t know that well and…the Slytherin’s.

‘Honestly, Ron,’ says Hermione, slinging her bag over her shoulder and coming to stand with them. ‘You can’t talk about a teacher like that.’

Murmurs rise amongst the room as everyone else moves to collect their bags and head to lunch. Numb and still reeling from his inability to even defend himself, Harry follows Ron and Hermione out into the hallway. His head is swimming, and he feels a bit dizzy.

‘Alright. I’ll stop talking about him like that, when he stops giving Harry a hard time.’ Ron is saying, but Harry can’t concentrate on the words. They echo in his head.

His vision swims. The hallway feels narrower than usual, and he swallows against the sudden feeling of claustrophobia. He shakes his head. He’s _not_ claustrophobic. Hell, he’d lived in a cupboard for ten years of his life, hadn’t he?

He feels at once heavy and weightless, a strange combination that makes his stomach turn.

‘Alright, Harry?’

Harry looks up, blinking. ‘What?’

Hermione frowns at him. ‘Harry, where’s your bag?’

He looks down, then curses. ‘You guys go ahead,’ he says, waving them off. ‘I’ll catch up.’

Before either of them can reply, he turns and heads back toward the classroom, almost running headlong into Blaise Zabini.

‘Shit, sorry,’ he mutters, and steps around the boy.

‘Alright there, Potter?’

Harry doesn’t answer. He’s already turning the corner toward the room.

Snape is mercifully absent, but the room is not yet empty.

Draco Malfoy stands near the far wall, weighing a bag contemplatively in one hand; his own bag slung across his shoulder.

He looks up when Harry enters, and the indecision warring over his face clears. He gestures to Harry’s bag.

‘I do hope you don’t leave _everything_ you own just lying about, Potter,’ he says dryly, and dumps Harry’s bag back on the table.

Harry doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s still stuck. His mind keeps seeing Snape’s spell racing toward him, only…it’s not the soft blue of a harmless jinx, but the burning red of a cruiciatus. He swallows.

Something undefinable crosses Malfoy’s face. ‘Jesus, Potter,’ he mutters. ‘Again?’

‘What?’ Harry asks.

His voice cracks over the word, but it’s enough to bring him back to himself, just a little bit. His breathing evens out on it’s own. Malfoy raises an eyebrow, studying him.

‘You don’t expect me to bring this to you, do you?’ Malfoy asks, cocking an eyebrow and glancing across at Harry’s back.

‘Er, no,’ says Harry and within a moment he’s by the desk, picking up his bag, with no recollection of ever having decided to move. ‘You didn’t hex it or anything, did you?’

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ‘Of course you’d think that,’ he scowls. ‘No, Potter, I didn’t go through all the effort of saving your sorry arse only to torment you at school. Merlin.’

‘Oh,’ says Harry. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

Malfoy looks at him like Harry’s lost his marbles, and Harry thinks he rather might have. He doesn’t feel like himself. In fact, he feels a bit like he’s dreaming, and that at any moment he’s going to wake up, sweaty and breathless, as he has most nights since the summer. It doesn’t help that Malfoy’s been a see saw of contradictory actions ever since that day in Diagon Alley.

‘Why did you?’ Harry asks, adjusting the strap on his bag.

He breathes in. He breathes out. He waits for Malfoy’s response. Tries to pretend that his chest doesn’t hurt with the simple effort of _not freaking out_.

‘Why did I what?’

Harry swallows. He concentrates on the words and is pleased when his voice doesn’t shake. ’Save my life.’

Malfoy frowns and looks away. Toward the door. He shifts his weight and glances toward Harry. He shrugs and scratches at the inside of his arm, where Harry remembers four long claw marks gouged into the flesh.

He realises that Malfoy is feeling self-conscious. He’s never seen Malfoy look self-conscious before. Somehow that makes him feel a little better, and the tightening in his chest eases somewhat.

‘I…I don’t know,’ Malfoy says quietly, frowning. ‘I just…couldn’t let her kill you.’

‘Oh,’ says Harry, and has to clench his fists to keep from shaking. ‘Well…thanks…I guess.’

‘You guess?’ and he’s Malfoy again, all arrogance and snark.

Harry rolls his eyes. He thinks about trying again, but Malfoy’s still looking at him like he’s an idiot and really, he’s having enough trouble pretending he’s okay without having to deal with Malfoy on top of it.

‘Whatever,’ he mutters, and turns and stomps across the room.

‘Hey Potter,’ Malfoy calls after him. ‘You might want to work on your shields. I’d rather all my hard work not go to waste, you know.’

Harry’s shoulders tense, and he spins back around, glaring. ‘I can cast shields just fine, thanks.’

Malfoy shrugs, leans back on the table and twirls his wand. He raises an eyebrow at Harry.

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes,’ Harry snaps.

Another of those unreadable looks flashes across Malfoy’s face. He narrows his eyes.

‘Alright then,’ he says. ‘Prove it.’

His wand is no longer twirling. He flicks it out, his arm moving through a familiar pattern that’s too quick for Harry to identify, and even if he’d been able to it would’ve been too late. Because Harry’s stuck again. He’s staring down the wrong end of a wand that’s hexed him more times than he can count and he can’t even _think_ of what he needs to do.

Cold, sharp fear spikes up Harry’s spine. Something coils in his stomach, the whole world freezing in place as the panic that’s been building in Harry’s chest lashes out.

The shield bursts into life a fraction of a second before the spell hits it and the whole room _explodes_.

Harry and Malfoy are thrown backwards. Harry slams into a desk, or a chair, or maybe even a bookcase, but whatever it is it’s solid and _hurts_. He falls, flailing, and smacks his face on the corner of another hard something. Pain erupts in several different spots at once and he cries out. Or at least he thinks he does, because he can’t hear it. His ears are ringing with the echoes of the eruption of sound that blasted through the room when the two spells collided.

Harry lays still and waits for the world to stop tumbling.

It occurs to him, too late as usual, that it might’ve been _Malfoy_ who cast the shield in class. Meaning that he’d known perfectly well that Harry hadn’t been able to cast it at all.

He groans, and this time is relieved to find that he _can_ hear after all.

At least the panic has subsided, he reflects. Belatedly, he realises he can hear more than his own grumbles of pain. Malfoy, wherever the stupid sod is, is swearing.

‘Mother fucking Merlin on a stick!’

Harry blinks. Well, he’s never heard _that_ one before.

‘What’re you trying to do, _kill_ us? _Fuck_ that hurts!’ there’s a momentary pause and some scuffling. ‘Potter? You… _are_ alive, aren’t you?’

Despite himself, Harry cracks a wry smile. ‘I think so,’ he says. ‘If not I’m definitely in hell.’

Malfoy snorts. He sounds closer, and a moment later his head appears in Harry’s field of vision.

‘You have some serious issues, you know that?’

Malfoy’s hair is in disarray, there’s a gash on his temple, he has two black eyes and a swollen lip.

He sticks out a hand. Harry takes it and is hauled to his feet with barely any effort. Turns out that standing hurts even worse than lying down had, and Harry doubles over, wheezing. Malfoy steadies him.

'Steady on,' he says, a hand on Harry's back. 'Now, I know you Gryffindorks aren't the most intelligent lot, but I would've thought even _you_ would realise that throwing a person who saved your life across a room isn't a very good show of gratitude.'

'Oh, fuck off,' Harry coughs, but he tilts his head, shooting Malfoy a wry smile.

To his surprise, Malfoy smiles back. It's small and uncertain and...kind of endearing. His eyes crinkle at the edges, the steel grey softening into something warmer and he's almost attractive, like this.

Harry blinks. What. The. _Fuck_?

He straightens and takes one step back from Malfoy. In an instant, Malfoy's guard is back up and the warmth vanishes from his eyes. Harry is _not_ disappointed. He's not. Really. Because he doesn't find Malfoy attractive. Or even capable of normal human emotion. The incident in Diagon Alley not withstanding. _That_ was just some freak occurrence of decency on Malfoy's part. Obviously.

He wonders just how hard he hit his head.

'What the _hell_ is going on?'

Harry and Malfoy both jump, turning around to find Professor Snape standing in the doorway to his offices, his gaze swivelling around the room—the broken tables and chairs, the shattered glass tanks, the overturned pixie cage, the boggart wardrobe in pieces, to name just a few—and there, at the centre of it all, is Harry and Malfoy.

Harry winces. Oh, they are in _so_ much trouble.


	7. Seating Arrangements

Chapter Seven

_Seating Arrangements_

 

**_Blaise:_ **

‘Many of you have no doubt heard that there was an altercation yesterday evening in the Defence classrooms,’ says McGonagall, her gaze sweeping over the room and quelling all conversations.

Blaise glances across at Draco, hoping for some reaction that might clue him into what happened yesterday other than the tight lipped response of ‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Zabini,’ that he’d gotten this morning when Draco returned from the Hospital Wing; but there’s nothing. Not even an eye twitch.

’Since many of you seem incapable of interacting with members of another house without altercations occurring we have decided to bring in a new class rule. From now on, no two students from the same house may sit together in any class.’

Whispers break out across the hall. Blaise straightens, his mouth dropping open, and shifts his attention back to McGonagall.

‘What?’ Pansy gasps. ‘They can’t do that!’

McGonagall waits. She stands stoic, one eyebrow slightly arched as she stares down the entire hall, as cool and unyielding as any Slytherin. Blaise shifts uncomfortably, and glances across at Snape. The man glowers down at his food, stabbing his fork at his sausages and Blaise wonders how many arguments this “rule” caused during the night.

‘Anyone who does not comply will face a weeks worth of detention, twenty lost house points, and find themselves assigned a new class partner who you will work with at all times.’

‘What!’

Pansy isn’t the only one to cry out, and outrage ripples across the room.

‘Furthermore,’ McGonagall says, talking over the rush of noise. ‘To reinforce this new rule, Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter have _kindly_ offered to set an example by becoming partners in all subjects, to the point that they have even changed classes in order to show how inter house unity should occur. Violence is not tolerated at Hogwarts. Anyone who receives a three strike warning for not cooperating with a member of another house will be suspended and then expelled.’

McGonagall sits down into complete silence. Blaise has never heard a silence quite like this one. It’s shock, disbelief and growing anger all rolled into one. Everyone is staring at McGonagall in disbelief, at least until, one by one, they all turn to look at either Potter or Draco.

Blaise glances across at them too.

Draco, for his part, is as unaffected as ever. He sits with his elbow on the table, his chin rested in his palm as he idly pushed his food around his plate with his fork. He’s pretending not to notice the glares and whispers, instead staring off toward the great hall doors as if deep in thought—though Blaise suspects there’s less deep thinking going on and more of a wish for escape.

Potter, on the other hand, looks miserable. He’s sitting slouched in his chair, attempting to look as small as possible as he focuses entirely on eating. Granger and Weasley are leaning over the table, trying and failing to talk to him, but he shakes his head at them and stuffs another mouthful of shepherds pie in his mouth.

‘You have to partner with _that_?’ Pansy asks in disgust, her nose wrinkling as she watches Potter almost choke on the food in his attempt to discourage conversation.

Draco’s gaze flicks to her, then across at Potter. His he frowns, grey eyes narrowed, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s no disparaging commentary, no snide remark. Not even a scowl or sneer of disgust. He merely says, ‘Unfortunately,’ in a lazy tone and looks away again.

‘What did you _do_?’ Pansy asks.

Draco shrugs and it’s clear that none of them—for they’re _all_ listening—are going to get an answer. Draco may have been a bit of an attention seeker, but he could be stubborn when he put his mind to it.

Blaise sighs. Really it’s not like he actually cared what happened between Potter and Draco, but the lack of Draco’s usual pompous behaviour concerning all things Potter has piqued Blaise’s curiosity. He’s spent years understanding the inner workings of the more emotionally damaged Slytherin’s to the point that he’s sort of the unofficial house councillor, and he’s not used to being unable to figure out his housemates.

Snape descends on the table, breaking Blaise out of his thoughts, stalking toward Draco. He’s emitting such a foul aura that all students instinctively hunch over their plates, keeping their eyes downcast to avoid being caught in the firing line.

‘Malfoy,’ he says, stopping at their section of the table and thrusting a sheet of parchment at Draco. ‘Here’s your new timetable. Your new books will be sent to you.’

New books? Blaise raises his eyebrows and glances curiously at the timetable, wondering just how much of it has changed. The paper is barely in Draco’s hand before Snape is stalking back off.

Nosy as ever, Pansy leans over Draco’s shoulder to inform the rest of the house what new classes he’s taking.

‘Care of Magical Creatures?’ she says, her eyebrows rising. ‘ _Muggle Studies_?’

Draco yanks the paper away from her, his calm facade finally snapping. He surges to his feet, leaving his breakfast untouched on the table as he slings his bag over his shoulder, shoving the parchment into the depths of his pockets.

Across the room, Potter lifts his head from studying his own timetableand watches Draco leave, a contemplative frown on his face.

‘They can’t make us do this,’ Pansy complains, glowering. ‘They can’t just _dictate_ who we’re going to sit with in class! It’s not right!’

Blaise reaches for his own bag, downing the last of his pumpkin juice—the sharp tang sending a shiver of discomfort down his spine (he would _never_ get used to this stuff)—and standing.

‘I think they already have, Pans,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘You should finish up.’

She arches an eyebrow at him and, pointedly reaches for another scoop of hash browns.

Blaise shrugs, ‘Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you?’

Unlike Pansy, Daphne and Theo follow Blaise up from the table. Greg and Vince are too wrapped up in their breakfasts to have even noticed what’s going on, and Blaise feels a twang of sympathy for them.

‘They’re not going to know what hit them when they get to class,’ he sighs.

Daphne shoots him a sideways look. ‘What?’

He grins. ‘Never mind. Was just thinking that this new seating rule is going to be harder for some than others.’

Daphne glances back at Greg and Vince and winces. ‘Those two are hopeless. I can’t believe they even managed to pass their O.W.L.S.’

She grabs his arm, stopping him and reaching into her bag. ‘Thanks for letting me keep this a few extra days,’ she says, withdrawing his mother’s grimoire. ‘I appreciate it.’

Blaise shrugs, accepting it back. ‘No worries,’ he says. ‘I hope it proved useful.’

She gives him a cool look, as mistrustful as any of his housemates, before relaxing her shoulders and offering him a soft smile. ‘Yeah, it was. Thanks.’

He nods.

They head to the transfiguration classrooms and, like everyone else, pause in the hallway. No one seems to want to be the first one in—especially not any of the Slytherins. For students that like to be in control, the idea of being the first in and having no control over who sits next to you isn’t something any of the Slytherin’s relish—even Blaise.

Of course, when the Gryffindor’s show up, the impasse breaks. Most of them reach the group already milling about and slow to a halt, glancing between the students and the door curiously.

It’s not until Potter and his two sidekicks show up that the situation resolves itself. Granger takes one look at the waiting crowd and rolls her eyes.

‘Really?’ she asks, looking around at them all.

To Blaise’s surprise, though, it’s Potter who pushes through. He breaks away from his friends and trudges through the door to the classroom. He glances sideways at Draco, who’s leaning on the wall next to the door, and lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

‘Might as well get it over with,’ he says, and heads in.

Draco rolls his eyes, but—after a beat of silence—follows Potter in, pushing off from the wall and throwing them all his scathing patented number two “I’m-better-than-all-of-you” sneer.

Blaise resists the urge to snicker.

McGonagall is waiting for them when they enter, watching impassively as they all fumble around the room, trying to decide where to sit. Blaise eyes her.

‘I still don’t know how they do that,’ he mutters, glancing around the room for some secret entrance.

He’s convinced all the teachers use them. How else would they get from one end of the castle to the other before students who left before them.

Daphne casts him one last bemused smile, shakes her head, and veers off to the back corner of the classroom.

All the usual groups have been broken up and in the brief confusion that falls over the room (except, of course, for Potter and Draco who are sitting in their assigned seats watching everyone else scramble) people seem to grab a seat at random. Blaise aims for a blonde Ravenclaw he recalls as being somewhat tolerable and somehow ends up next to Longbottom.

He sighs.

Still, he supposes it’s better than Pansy, whose wound up stuck next to Weasley. Which is yet better than poor Theo, who is looking horrified by the prospect of sitting in the only vacant seat remaining—next to Lavender Brown.

Blaise can’t contain a snort, and turns away, turning is laugh into a jagged cough, hiding his smile in the crook of his elbow. Theo, the guy who never utters two syllables when one will suffice, stuck next to the loudest person in all of Hogwarts.

‘Don’t let us hold you up, Mr Nott,’ McGonagall barks.

A few people titter as Theo sinks into the seat, his face taut and pale.

’That’s unfortunate,’ Longbottom mutters.

Blaise tilts his head in surprise.

Longbottom catches his expression and promptly flushes. ‘I, er, I just mean…she can be a bit…much...’

Blaise smirks. ‘You think? That girl could talk the wings off a dragon.’

Longbottom smiles tentatively and drops his gaze to his books. Despite the boys obvious submissiveness (an unfortunate quality for a Gryffindor) Blaise thinks that perhaps this won’t be as horrendous as he’d first thought. Longbottom is, at least, amendable to civil discussion.

Naturally, Blaise goes with the obvious.

‘So,’ he says. ‘Who do you think is going to crack first? Potter and Draco, or Pansy and Weasley?’

Longbottom glances up in surprise. He observes the two pairs for a moment, before shrugging.

‘Harry’s not up to arguing today,’ he says.

Blaise raises his eyebrows at this bit of insight. He leans forward, eyeing Potter closer. The boy does look tense, but there are shadows under his eyes, and he slouches in his seat next to Draco without any attempt at argument.

Pansy and Weasley, on the other hand, are already bickering. Which McGonagall quells in an instant.

‘I expect total cooperation today,’ she says.

Mutters start up.

‘As well as silence,’ she barks at them, glowering. ‘As such you’ll be practicing the wandless versions of spells you learnt last year. I believe you’ve already started this in some of your other classes.’

Silence is not an interesting way to spend the class. Still, Blaise works on his wandless magic and is surprised when McGonagall announces the end of the lesson sooner than he’d been expecting.

‘Alright, wands down,’ says McGonagall. ‘Parkinson, Weasley, a word? The rest of you may go.’

Pansy and Weasley slouch further in their seats, scowling at each other.

Potter and Draco, on the other hand, leave their tables without a single word.

‘Not bad, Longbottom,’ says Blaise, and reaches into his pocket for his spare change from last night’s round of cards. He tosses a galleon to the Gryffindor. ‘Cheers.’

Longbottom catches the coin, surprise lighting his face. ‘Uh, thanks.’

Still looking at the coin, he heads out of the room.

‘Well,’ says Blaise, watching Longbottom walk away with a contemplative expression. ‘that wasn’t _completely_ terrible.’

Theo, coming to stand next to him, merely grunts. Brown just about bolted from the room the second the class was over, and Blaise wonders what on earth Theo did to the poor girl.

Pansy, of course, stomps over to them red faced and fuming. ‘Speak for yourself,’ she snaps. ‘Weasley has already got me landed in detention. The detestable pig.’

Blaise grins and nudges Theo. ‘Come on, at least there aren’t many Gryffindor’s in Ancient Runes.’

Theo just scowls and turns down the hallway. Blaise waves off the others and jogs after him.

‘So…Draco seemed a little odd during class, don’t you think?’

Theo shoots him a sidelong look. He shrugs. ‘Odd how?’

‘Well, normally he can’t wait to tell everyone how he humiliated Potter, but this time he hasn’t said a word.’

‘Maybe Potter isn’t the one who got humiliated?’

‘Yeah, but when has that ever stopped Draco from telling a good story?’

Theo snorts and nods in agreement. ‘True.’

‘And normally when something like this class situation happens, Draco gets all fired up and outraged and just generally causes everyone endless amounts of headaches for _days…’_

‘You’re upset because he isn’t being a pain in the arse?’ Theo asks, glancing sideways at Blaise again.

Blaise rolls his eyes. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m not upset. I just don't understand. I guess things are just different this year.’

Theo shrugs, though this time his eyes flash downwards and his jaw tightens the way it only ever does when he thinks of his father.

‘Yeah,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Different.’

Their footsteps echo along the hall in the following silence. Blaise chews on the inside of his mouth. In an attempt to distract Theo from any morose thoughts he might be having, he says,

‘Did you notice how close they were sitting in class?’

‘Why would I notice how close they were sitting?’

Blaise smirks. ‘Well you never know, there could be something going on. You know, that we don’t know about.’

As he’d hoped, Theo glances over at him, an eyebrow cocking as he realises what Blaise is insinuating. ‘You think there’s something going on between Draco and Potter?’

The way he says it sounds ridiculous, even to Blaise’s ears, but he smirks and says, ‘I dunno, maybe?’

Theo snorts. ‘Fat chance in hell.’

‘Never say never,’ says Blaise, rolling his shoulders and winking at a Hufflepuff girl as she passes.

Theo throws him a disgusted look.

‘What? Seeing as we have to start getting along, I don’t see the problem in appreciating the finer points of other houses.’

Theo glances back over his shoulder at the girl. ‘You mean like her arse?’

‘Exactly like her arse.’

‘You’re disgusting.’

‘I’m a man,’ says Blaise.

There’s another, much more comfortable, silence as they stroll along. Theo shifts, glancing sideways as an amused (for him, anyway) glint enters his eye.

‘Ten galleons,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Ten galleons says there’s absolutely nothing weird going on between Potter and Draco.’

At first Blaise is shocked, then delight surges up his spine and he grins. ‘Oh, you’re on. Because there is definitely _something_ going on.’

Theo stops, turning to face Blaise fully as he extends his hand, a small smirk twitching into place. Before he can reach out to accept it a voice speaks up from behind them.

‘Well, with terms as broad as those, that’s not much of a bet now, is it?’

Blaise winces. He turns to face Granger, bracing himself for the long, ranting Gryffindor to give them what for.

That is, until he sees the contemplative—if somewhat amused—arch of her brow, and the small, Slytherin worthy smirk she’s pointing in their direction.


	8. Propositions

Chapter Eight

_Insights_

 

**_Hermione:_ **

Zabini and Nott look like two deer caught in the headlights. The corners of Hermione’s lips twitch, but she manages to keep the smile under wraps. She shifts the books in her grasp and takes a step forward.

‘I mean,’ she says. ‘It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that something has changed between them.’

Zabini and Nott exchange wary glances. Zabini refocuses on her, raising his eyebrows.

‘It is?’ he asks.

His tone is aloof and guarded yet Hermione detects the note of curiosity underlying his voice. He’s regarding her with interest. As if she’s a new piece in a game that he hasn’t worked out what to do with yet.

Hermione rolls her eyes. Honestly, Slytherin’s were all show.

‘Please,’ she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and pushing passed them. ‘Come on, we can talk and walk. I don’t want to be late.’

‘No,’ says Zabini dryly, following along behind her with an amused glance at his friend. ‘Of course you wouldn’t. So, what exactly do _you_ think is going on?’

She throws him a sideways look, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘You don’t really expect me to tell you that do you? At least not until we establish the parameters of the bet.’

‘Wait, you want in?’

Hermione considers the question. Did she want in?

Her moral compass cringes at the thought of making a bet about one of her best friends; but on the other hand…there _is_ something going on with Harry and for whatever reason he isn’t turning to her or Ron.

Not to mention the fact that she was now certain it involved Malfoy.

‘Yes,’ she says, surprising herself. ‘I do.’

There’s a moment of surprised silence in which Hermione is sure the two of them are exchanging secret, communicative Slytherin expressions. She rolls her eyes again but waits patiently, leading the way to Ancient Runes.

‘Alright,’ says Zabini. ‘Then how do you want to do this?’

They’re two corridors away from the room, and Hermione pauses, not wanting to be overheard by any of the other students in their class. She turns, eyeing the two Slytherin’s.

‘Well, I guess we have to figure out what each of us thinks is going on, and make the bet according to that. But nothing too broad. For instance, I think that something happened in the Defence classroom that they’re not telling us, but I don’t think they fought.’

‘Oh?’

‘Harry’s never been skittish about owning up to fights before, but this time is different,’ she says, frowning as she thinks about the last few days. ‘He hasn’t actually directly stated that they fought.’

‘Hm, interesting,’ says Zabini. ‘So you think…what…that they’re _friends_?’

‘Not…exactly,’ says Hermione. ‘What do you think?’

Zabini shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall with a contemplative smile. ‘Hell, I think they’re friends and they’re hiding it. Or at the very least they’re getting along but pretending not to be.’

Hermione frowns. ‘Why? What have you seen?’

‘Nothing,’ says Zabini, an infuriating smirk working onto his face. ‘But that’s exactly the point. There’s been nothing. After everything that happened last year…nothing. I mean, Draco’s just as obsessed as he’s ever been-ow.’

Nott treads pointedly on Zabini’s foot. Zabini winces, glaring at his friend, but cutting off. Hermione raises her eyebrows. Interesting.

‘Alright…’ she says. ‘Well, I don’t think Harry would agree to be friends. Not, as you say, after everything. I…I think maybe…they’re helping each other.’

‘Helping each other how?’

‘To be honest,’ says Hermione, and bites her lip, wondering if she dares say it. She sighs. ‘I think it’s the war. I think maybe Malfoy has…you know.’

‘What, switched?’ Zabini asks, his tone and expression incredulous.

Nott snorts. ‘You two are delusional, you know that?’

Zabini shoots him a sharp look. ‘Well, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is then?’

Nott smirks, ‘Against those two theories? Easy money.’

‘Ten galleons?’ Zabini asks again, glancing between them.

Hermione purses her lips. If she’s honest, she doesn’t really _have_ ten galleons and she pauses. How sure _is_ she about her theory?

‘What if we want to amend our theories?’ she asks.

Zabini shakes his head. ‘Nope, no adjustments. We settle on this.’

Hermione rolls her eyes. ‘Alright, fine.’

Zabini smirks. ‘Great,’ he says, and pushes off the wall, holding out a hand to her.

Shaking hands with a Slytherin over a bet she’s just placed on her best friend feels more than a little surreal, but Hermione takes it in stride. She’s sure that, with Zabini and Nott’s insights, that she can figure out this mystery.

‘Oh, this is going to be good,’ Zabini says.

He tilts his head at Nott and the two of them proceed to class. Hermione sighs, and hopes that she won’t come to regret this decision.

Which, of course, she does almost instantly.

At lunch, she watches as Malfoy and Harry make their way into the Great Hall, straggling in after their joint Care of Magical Creatures.

‘So?’ says Ron as Harry sits down.

‘So what?’ Harry asks tiredly, reaching for the juice.

‘So, how awful was it?’

Harry glances up and shrugs. ‘Actually, it wasn’t that bad,’ he says. ‘I mean, I was feeling kinda bad anyway, about skipping out on Hagrid’s class.’

‘Not Hagrid,’ says Ron, rolling his eyes. ‘I mean _Malfoy_. Aren’t you two the only two stuck in that class?’

Again the shrug. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

Ron smirks, stuffing his mouth with entirely too much bacon. Hermione wrinkles her nose. ‘I bet he hated that,’ he says around his food.

‘Not really,’ says Harry. ‘Actually, Hagrid’s class was pretty good. I think Malfoy was actually interested for once. Not that he’d admit it, the git.’

He adds this last part almost as an afterthought, his gaze drifting over to the Slytherin table without him even realising it.

Hermione does the same and as she watches, Zabini leans over to Malfoy and says something. Malfoy glances up, grey eyes flashing over to their table. His gaze finds Harry’s with unerring accuracy. He frowns and both boys look away quickly.

Hermione catches Zabini’s eye. He smirks at her, tilting his head at his friend.

‘So, what was interesting about Hagrid’s class?’ Hermione asks, turning to Harry.

‘Oh, actually we talked about magical snakes. Hagrid had an Occamy that was nesting.’

‘An Occamy,’ repeats Hermione, surprised. ‘Those are rare. And aggressive. I do hope you were careful.’

Harry shrugs her off. ‘Oh she was fine. Beautiful, actually, and not aggressive at all. Especially when I explained that we were just looking at her.’

‘Wait, you _spoke_ to her?’ Hermione asks sharply. ‘In parseltongue?’

Harry throws her an odd look. ‘Well, yeah. I couldn’t talk to her in english, could I?’

‘But I mean…’ Hermione trails off and glances back across the room at Malfoy.

Zabini seems to be teasing him and Malfoy snaps something with a scowl, making Zabini laugh. Malfoy sighs, sticks his elbow on the table and resting his chin. His eyes shift back to Harry again, though this time he notices Hermione watching. He sneers at her, turning away sharply.

‘You mean what?’ Harry asks.

She glances at him. ‘I just…should you be doing that? In front of Malfoy, I mean?’

Ron glances over at Harry, pointing his fork at him. ‘Yeah, you don’t really want to give him any more reasons to start shit?’

‘Ron,’ Hermione says, with a frown.

Ron shrugs. ‘Well he would.’

‘Actually, I don’t think he cared. He even asked me what we were talking about. Of course, then Hagrid got all excited and wanted me to ask a bunch of weird questions.’ Harry cracks a smile, a fond expression lighting up his eyes.

Hermione returns the smile. ‘That sounds like Hagrid.’

‘Hey,’ says Ron, nudging Harry. ‘When do you think you’ll host the Quidditch trials? I thought maybe next Tuesday would be good, you know, get it over with early?’

‘Er, well, I have detention, remember.’

‘McGonagall will let you off for Quidditch,’ Ron says dismissively.

Hermione raises her eyebrows. ‘You can’t just get “let off”, Ron. Harry’s in detention for a reason.’

Ron frowns at her. ‘You make it sound like you _want_ Harry to be in detention.’

‘No,’ says Hermione. ‘Though, McGonagall has a point. The fighting has gotten to be a bit much. I mean, they _did_ destroy a classroom.’

‘Please, like the stupid git didn’t deserve it. Do you remember what he did last year?’

Hermione does remember, and as the shadow of pain flashes across Harry’s face, Hermione shoots Ron a sharp glare. He, at least, has the good grace to wince.

‘Yes,’ says Hermione. ‘I just thought we’d all grown up a little bit. Why _did_ you fight, anyway.’

Harry shrugs. ‘Erm, you know…’

‘No, I don’t. You never said.’

‘Who cares,’ says Ron, cutting a sharp look across to Hermione.

No doubt worried that she was going to start grilling Harry about this like she had about Harry’s missing hours in Diagon Alley.

‘I care,’ says Hermione. ‘Harry was injured, they _both_ were. Something must have caused that.’

‘Yeah, Malfoy being a big fat giant git, as usual!’

Harry frowns. He opens his mouth, pauses, and snaps it shut again, the frown remaining in place. Hermione narrows her gaze at him, an idea niggling at her mind.

Following a hunch, Hermione turns to Ron and puts on her most patronising tone. ‘Oh, so of course it’s all Malfoy’s fault, is it?’

‘What, you think it’s _Harry’s_?’

‘I think they both need to take responsibility for their actions.’

‘Oh please,’ says Ron, flushing red in his indignation. ‘Malfoy deserves everything he gets. The guy is an absolute prick! It’d be just like him to start something and then get Harry in trouble for it! I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing was some nasty plan to make Harry get stuck with him so he can do something even worse.’

‘Oh, really, you think Malfoy planned for the teachers to punish them by making them sit together?’

‘Well I don’t know! I wouldn’t past the evil little snake!’

And that’s when Hermione’s hunch pays off. Whatever guilt had been plaguing Harry pops like a balloon.

‘It was my fault!’ he blurts.

Ron blinks. ‘Your fault?’

Harry flushes red. He glances around the table and lowers his voice.

‘I…’ he swallows, starting again, and Hermione wonders what on Earth could be so bad that he’s this nervous. ‘Look, I…I didn’t say anything before because I was kind of embarrassed and by some miracle Malfoy didn’t go shoot off his mouth the minute it happened but…I kind of…lost it…’

Hermione frowns.

‘Lost it?’ Ron asks, the irritation bleeding out of his expression as the confusion takes hold.

‘Uh, yeah,’ says Harry, and swirls his fork through his food, staring down at the plate unseeingly.

Hermione keeps her voice low and calm. ‘Lost it how?’ she asks, as gently as she can.

‘Um, I lost control of a spell. _That’s_ how the classroom blew up.’ He glances up, green eyes flashing to Hermione’s and she can see the worry there. The embarrassment and the shame. ‘It was my fault. _I’m_ the one who blew it up.’

Somehow, the fight seems rather insignificant in the face of Harry’s confession.

‘Wait, you’re saying you did all that damage by _yourself_?’ asks Ron. ‘Hell, I thought it was Malfoy for sure with some dark spell.’

Harry winces and Hermione sighs.

‘Really Ron?’ she asks. ‘Harry, ignore him. He’s just being an idiot.’

‘Hey!’ Ron objects, though he sees the uncertainty on Harry’s face and seems to realise what he’s said. ‘I just mean that whatever spell you used must have been crazy powerful.’

‘Do you know why it happened?’ asks Hermione.

Harry shrugs. ‘No.’ His gaze drops to the table, and Hermione purses her lips, frustrated that he’s once again lying to her.

Ron shakes his head. ‘Remind me not to piss you off,’ he says, and grins at Harry, nudging his shoulder. ‘Sorry I said all that about it being dark magic.’

Harry grins, and nods. ‘Yeah, no worries.’

Hermione rolls her eyes. Idiots.


	9. Dancing

Chapter Nine

_Dancing_

 

**_Luna:_ **

Wrackspurts are in the air. It is obvious, if one knows the signs to look for. Of course, few people do, but Luna is one of those special few blessed with the ability to believe in anything one put their mind to—wrackspurts being one such thing. Therefore, seeing as she is so adept at believing the unbelievable, she often perceives a great many things before others.

Such as the current state of the sixth years.

The problem begins, as it most usually does, with Just Harry. Luna detects a hint of Wrackspurts lurking around him at the start of the year. However, by the third week, that hint has become a full blown infestation.

Luna is sure that this infestation is in part to blame for the damage that befell the Defence rooms during an encounter between Harry and Draco Malfoy. She’s sure of this fact, for the very next morning she detects the presence of Wrackspurts hanging around Draco as well.

From there, the invisible, microscopic creatures spreads amongst the sixth years like wildfires—most notably among the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

They befall Ron Weasley—who starts a relationship with Lavender Brown though anyone with any sense can see that partnership is doomed for failure.

They confound Pansy Parkinson, who chases after Draco Malfoy with renewed interest.

They obscure Theodore Nott, who withdraws further into himself than ever before.

The only one who seems to be free of the infestation is Hermione Granger. This is hardly surprising, for if Luna is one of those blessed with the ability to believe, Hermione is one of those blessed with the ability to _know_. She observes and consumes knowledge like a sponge that consumes water—but like a sponge, sometimes the knowledge drips away. Such things like Wrackspurts and Nargles and crumpled horned snorkacks (things that are not absolute _certainties)_ tend to be those things that drip out of Hermione’s voluminous brain, making room for things of a more concrete nature.

Luna, like Hermione, observes a great many things in the weeks following the wrackspurt infestation, however, _unlike_ Hermione, Luna comes to an entirely different (and perhaps more accurate) conclusion simply by being willing to ignore past facts, and consider previously _unconsidered_ new ones.

‘Have you ever noticed,’ Luna asks Ginny (one of the few friends she can speak to about any topic without fear of judgement), ‘how uncomfortable Harry gets when he’s approached by people?’

Ginny looks up from her essay. There’s a spot of ink on her nose that makes her resemble her brothers more than usual. Luna doesn’t point it out. She feels that Ginny won’t appreciate the comparison. Ginny isn’t overly fond of being the youngest of seven, and while Luna understands the need to make a name and place for oneself, she can’t help but feel that she herself would be positively thrilled to have siblings to resemble, no matter how annoying.

‘Mm, I suppose so,’ says Ginny, brown eyes darting over to the table where Harry and Draco Malfoy are actually managing to work on an assignment together.

They’ve only bickered a few times (they’re on their last warning from Madam Pince—who is pretending not to glare at them from behind her desk) but have now been interrupted by a girl in Ginny’s house.

The girl leans on the corner of the table, looking down at Harry with a wide smile and batting her eyes at him rather like she has something caught in them.

Luna can’t hear what the girl asks, but she sees the way Harry sinks down in his chair somewhat, his eyes downcast as he tries to avoid her gaze.

Luna’s mind, as it is want to do in such situations, reads the moment and translates it for Luna.

The girl becomes a prowling tigeress, lowering herself down on her haunches, a predator on the hunt. Harry leans back in his chair, which turns into vines where he sits, wrapping around him and tying him in place. He casts around, eyes frantic, but there’s nothing to free him. The tiger gets ready to pounce. The ground beneath Harry starts to shake, starts to open up, ready to swallow him whole.

A huge, white wolf appears, skulking out from the shadows to place itself between Harry and the tigeress. He snarls, and the tiger balks. She reconsiders (a smart move being that she is much smaller than the large wolf), turns and bounds away. The wolf turns to face Harry.

The wolf, though large, is scrawny and starved. He keeps his distance though and after a moment he shakes himself off and trots away, back into the shadows, leaving Harry alone in his chair of vines.

Luna shakes her head free of the vision.

 _‘You must keep your head on the ground, Luna, my love, and not away up in the stars in your fantasies,’_ she hears her father’s voice say.

She sighs.

Back in reality, the girl stalks away from the table, her face flushed red. Behind her Malfoy is smirking as he watches her go. Harry casts him a grateful look, his shoulders relaxing in relief now that the unwanted advances have been deterred.

Ginny snorts. ‘Serves her right,’ she says. ‘No wonder Harry’s uncomfortable. Why can’t they all just leave him alone?’

Luna tilts her head. ‘He doesn’t look uncomfortable now,’ she says.

‘Well yeah, Romilda’s not there now,’ says Ginny with a smile.

Luna rests her chin in her hand and doesn’t point out that that’s not what she meant. She wonder’s if maybe Ginny has been infected by wrackspurts too?

‘Have you finished your essay yet?’ Ginny asks, frowning down at her own half finished homework.

‘Almost,’ says Luna. ‘But I need another book.’

‘Can I look at yours? I think I’ve gotten my terms mixed up.’

Luna offers her the parchment, and pushes up from the table. ‘Be back in a minute,’ she says.

Ginny waves her off, already engrossed in fixing her essay and Luna leaves her to her task, wandering off into the shelves.

She’s not sure precisely what she needs to finish her essay, but she’ll know it when she sees it. She always does.

She runs the tips of her fingers along dusty book spines, her fingers pattering along the soft fabrics and hard covers. She rounds the corner and almost runs headlong into Malfoy and Harry.

‘Merlin, Lovegood, make a noise,’ Malfoy snaps, taking a startled step backwards.

Harry hisses, shoving Malfoy forward and off his foot. ‘Ow!’

‘Sorry,’ Luna says and peers around Malfoy at Harry. ‘Hello Harry.’

‘Hey, Luna,’ says Harry, wincing as he shifts his weight off his trodden on toes.

‘How goes your potions essay?’

Harry tilts his head, ‘How’d you know we’re working on potions?’

‘Because this is the potions section, idiot,’ mutters Malfoy, rolling his eyes. ‘Honestly, how do you function?’

Harry rolls his eyes right back at Malfoy, sighing, but doesn’t retort. Luna tries not to let her mind get away from her again, alas, she cannot help it.

They shrink down to children before her eyes, standing with their arms crossed, their shoulders touching even as they glare in opposite directions, like little boys too stubborn to admit they want to play together.

Luna hides a smile and turns to the bookshelf closest to her. The boys do the same, though only Malfoy is looking seriously, peering at the titles with a soft little frown.

‘I was surprised you’re not at your usual table?’ Luna says to him, moving out of the way as he leans up to look at the shelves above her.

He glances at her, eyebrows raised.

‘You have a usual table?’ Harry asks, glancing up from the books he’s clearly not paying attention to (seeing as he’s somehow drifted into the Herbology section).

‘The table at the back,’ says Luna, gesturing over her shoulder toward the restricted section.

The tables aren’t visible from where they stand, but Luna can picture to two little tables shrouded in low light where she has often seen Malfoy studying, a multitude of books sprawled over the tables.

‘How do you know that?’ asks Malfoy, grey eyes narrowed at her.

Luna shrugs. Her eyes settle almost instinctively on a cover, and she reaches for it, suddenly knowing why she’d needed to get up.

‘I usually see you there during study break,’ she says, turning to hand him the book. ‘The Magical Creatures section is back there, and there’s a few lounge chairs near your table that are rather comfortable to read in. Besides, it’s quieter back there. Easier to think.’

Malfoy frowns at her, gaze wary, but as he glances down at the book she’s proffering him, his expression clears and a smirk pulls at the corners of his lips.

Harry straightens from the books he’s looking at and leans one shoulder against the shelves. ‘Wait,’ he says, eyeing Malfoy with raised eyebrows. ‘You actually go to study break?’

‘You don’t?’

‘Only when Hermione makes me,’ says Harry.

Malfoy hefts the book in his hand and shakes his head. ‘That explains _so_ much,’ he says dryly.

Harry ignores him. ‘If you have a usual table, why aren’t we sitting there?’

Malfoy shoots Luna an annoyed glance. She shrugs at him, linking her hands behind her back and turning to look back along the shelves, keeping one eye on the boys and one on the books.

Malfoy sighs. ‘Because I already have to put up with you in every single class I have, I’d rather not waste my free time with you too.’

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘Your wasting free time with me now.’

‘Yes, to finish this stupid assignment that I’m stuck working with you on.’

‘Right,’ says Harry. ‘So, if this table of yours is out of the way, why don’t we work there? At least then we wouldn’t keep getting interrupted and you’ll be free of me faster. Win, win, right?’

Malfoy smirks. ‘What, scared of all your adoring fans, Potter?’

‘Uh, yes.’

They’re performing a dance. One that they don’t yet know the moves to, but Luna can see the subtle indicators in their movements. Can hear the melody in the underlying tones of their voices and the missing words from their sentences. They haven’t realised it yet, but then, they’re still trying to find their rhythm.

‘Like tigers hunting,’ says Luna, before her gaze falls on another potions book. ‘Or an Erumpent in mating season.’

Harry blanches. ‘What? What the hell is an erumpent?’

Malfoy snorts. ‘Merlin, Potter. Read a book. Haven’t you ever been to a zoo?’

‘Harry was raised by muggles,’ Luna reminds him, pulling the book on erumpent properties off the shelf. ‘He’s probably never seen an erumpent.’

‘Yes but he _has_ wizard friends, did no one ever think to take you?’

‘No,’ says Harry, crossing his arms. ‘Look, have you found what we need yet? I’d like to get this done sometime _before_ dinner. We still have detention, after all.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes and shoves the book Luna gave him at Harry. ‘Read this.’

Harry frowns down at the cover. ‘Potions for the catastrophic creator…what…this is a book for people who suck at potions, isn’t it?’

‘Exactly,’ says Malfoy. ‘If you manage to absorb even a _sentence_ from that book, maybe we’ll be able to get through a single potions class without you trying to kill us.’

‘You’re a real jerk, you know that?’

‘Hey, Lovegood picked it out,’ says Malfoy, raising his hands and smirking again. ‘Besides, it’s a good book.’

‘Yeah, if you’re an idiot,’ Harry scowls.

‘Actually, that was the first book on potions I ever read,’ says Malfoy. ‘Granted I was eight, but then, we can’t all be gifted. I suppose even the “chosen one” isn’t perfect.’

‘Oh fuck off,’ scowls Harry.

‘Fine,’ says Malfoy, lifting his chin. ‘Do your essay on your own.’

He stalks off, his shoulders taut and Luna once again sees that starved, aloof wolf overshadowing him. She sighs.

‘I swear to god,’ growls Harry, glaring after Malfoy. ‘He’s going to drive me insane.’

Luna pats his arm sympathetically. ‘Did you know that despite their size, erumpent are known to be quite shy?’

‘Er, no, I didn’t know,’ says Harry, glancing at her.

Luna nods. She taps the front of the book Harry is holding. ‘There’s an interesting chapter in here on Erumpents. Their horns are used in a lot of potions, see? But to get their ingredients they must be lured out during mating season. They’ve been hunted so extensively that many have become distrustful of even their own kind, so that even when they find a potential mate, they dance around each other, trying to decide whether or not they can be trusted. It’s quite fascinating.’

‘Er…right,’ says Harry, and glances down at the book. ‘Do…do you really think I need this book?’

‘Hm. It’s a very good book,’ says Luna. ‘It was my mother’s favourite. She believed every muggleborn should read it. You see, most potions books assume a general knowledge of the wizarding world. This one doesn’t. Hence the erumpents.’

Harry shifts his weight and looks up, frowning after Malfoy. ‘Why couldn’t he just say that?’

‘He did,’ says Luna. ‘In his own way.’

Harry sighs. ‘Right. Why does he have to do everything the hard way?’

Luna laughs.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Luna says, and smiles. ‘I just can’t help thinking how alike you both are.’

Harry sputters. ‘We are _not_ alike!’

Luna shakes her head and decides that she really must start working on her wrackspurt charms, before the situation gets out of control.


	10. Idiosyncrasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, it's late. Life happens. But I've got the next four chapters lined up so we're good for the next two weeks at least (and there's even some forward movement in the next two chapters! Hazzah!)

Chapter Ten

_Idiosyncrasies_

 

**_Lisa_ **

Unlike many of her fellow year-mates, Lisa has so far managed to avoid any particularly inflammatory encounters with Gryffindors and Slytherins during her years at Hogwarts. She even managed to steer clear of any of that _Dumbledore’s Army_ nonsense last year. And yet, all her efforts to keep her nose down and her studies up come to an abrupt screeching halt all because of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

She supposes she should be surprised that it hasn’t happened sooner. So far as she can tell, almost _everyone_ in her year has been affected by the feud between the two rivals. However, she certainly didn’t expect them to cause her any problems in _Muggle Studies_. Especially considering neither of them had ever taken the course before.

‘Mr Malfoy,’ Professor Burbage sighs for the umpteenth time in several weeks, pausing mid lecture to look imploringly over at the blond.

Malfoy, as usual, ignores her, scratching out something that looks suspiciously like a potions essay.

He is, of course, the only Slytherin in their class—a fact of which Professor Burbage had initially been excited when McGonagall had walked the two reluctant boys into class the month before.

Lisa could understand, to a point, why the Muggle enthusiast had been so pleased at the prospect of enlightening a Slytherin to the prejudices and misconceptions regarding Muggles, but she—like the rest of their class—had sensed that Malfoy was not going to be the shinning pillar of change that the Professor thought he would be; and with every lesson that he sat at his designated seat next to Potter, scowl firmly in place as he focused his attention on anything _but_ the cheery, eager Professor, Lisa could feel the woman’s resolve cracking.

She only hoped that the inevitable fallout would not be too disruptive to her studies.

‘Mr Malfoy,’ Professor Burbage repeats, louder.

Potter, who has his chin propped in his hand, sighs and breaks away from his intent study of Hogwarts grounds to turn and poke Malfoy in the ribs. Malfoy jerks, his head snapping up and around to glare at Potter. Potter tilts his head and nods toward the front of the room where Professor Burbage is still waiting for a response. Lisa resists the urge to snort. Subtle.

Malfoy narrows his gaze, and turns to the Professor. ‘Yes?’ he asks.

‘Mr Malfoy, if you don’t wish to be here—’

‘I don’t,’ Malfoy drawls lazily. ‘If you recall, this some ridiculous form ofpunishment—something I don’t deserve, mind you.’ He accents this statement by throwing Potter a particularly scathing look.

Potter rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, ‘Drama queen.’

Malfoy glowers and, after a moment, punches him in the arm.

‘Ow!’ Potter rubs his arm, grumbling, but by some miracle doesn’t retaliate.

Still, Lisa casts a sticking charm to her inkwell, very aware that her table (situated directly behind the pair) is likely to get caught up in any squabble that may breakout.

Professor Burbage closes her eyes and Lisa wonders if she’s counting to ten. When she opens them, she says, ‘Punishment or not, you are expected to listen and participate, Mr Malfoy. It’s been over a month and you’ve yet to hand in any of your homework.’

‘What’s the point?’ asks Malfoy. ‘I’ve never taken this class before, I don’t know _half_ the stuff you’re talking about—’

Potter snorts. ‘Did you just admit that you’re bad at something?’

Malfoy glowers, ‘That’s not what I said, Potter.’

Potter drums his fingers against the table, eyeing off Malfoy with an expression that Lisa suspects is _designed_ to piss the Slytherin off. She inches her chair backwards.

‘It _sounded_ like that’s what you said,’ says Potter.

‘Well I _didn’t_ —‘

‘Boys, please!’ Professor Burbage tries again. She rubs her temple. ‘As you’ve been told, Mr Malfoy, if you are struggling with the coursework you merely need to ask one of your classmates or myself for help.’

‘I already offered,’ says Potter. ‘If I recall he told me to fu—er, “bugger” off and not speak until I’d learnt how to articulate myself like an intelligent human being.’

Malfoy smirks, then shakes himself (as if realising that he doesn’t find Potter funny) and flicks Potter a glare, ‘I don’t _need_ anyone’s help, Potter, least of all _yours_.’

Potter returns the smirk in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Slytherin he’s mocking (a clear indication that they’ve been stuck spending far too much time together). ‘You’d be lucky to get my help,’ he says, still leaning on his table. ‘This class is _easy_. I don’t even have to listen and I’m still passing.’

‘Great,’ Lisa mutters under her breath. ‘Then shut up so the rest of us _can_ listen.’

Next to her, Earnie McMillan stifles a snort of laughter, quickly turning it into a low cough before anyone notices.

‘Well,’ says Professor Burbage, breaking in with a rather frustrated exaltation. ‘ _Thank you_ for that assessment Mr Potter.’

Lisa raises her eyebrows. She slides a piece of parchment out from behind the notes she’s been taking and jots down a few observations. From her previous recordings, she had expected Malfoy to be the cause of Burbage’s inevitable meltdown, but apparently it was Potter’s casual dismissal of her class that was going to break her. The boy tries (and fails spectacularly) to apologise.

‘No, it’s quite alright,’ the Professor says briskly. ‘I understand that for a muggle-raised child like yourself the concept of electricity and technology may seem rather dull to you; but as you’ve so eloquently pointed out not all people in this class are as familiar with the subject of this class as yourself. Therefore, perhaps you’ll benefit from pairing up with Mr Malfoy here and working on your assignments together? Perhaps if you’re focused on helping each other, you’ll refrain from anymore interruptions for the rest of the class?’

Potter sinks in his seat, ducking his head in that familiar way she’s noticed when he’s incited someone’s ire (besides Malfoy’s, of course).

Malfoy snorts. ‘Good going, Potter.’

‘You know,’ says Earnie, leaning closer to Lisa to keep from being overheard. ‘I think they’re actually getting better at this.’

Lisa glances at him sideways, raising her eyebrows. ‘Really? This is better?’

‘Oh yes,’ says Earnie seriously. ‘I’d have expected broken bones by now. They’ve truly started to show some restraint. Harry especially, but then, that _is_ to be expected.’

Lisa flicks her gaze back at Potter and Malfoy in disbelief. She regards the Hufflepuff next to her and tries to decide whether or not his judgement can be trusted. She taps her quill and glances down at her observations.

Earnie doesn’t _seem_ like a Potter worshipper, though he did take part in the DA.

‘In fact,’ says Earnie. ‘I’ve been seeing an improvement in house relations all around.’

Lisa raises an eyebrow. ‘You have?’

Earnie nods seriously.

‘So you actually think this is working then?’ she asks.

‘Oh yes,’ nods Earnie. ‘Professor McGonagall was very astute to pair them together. After all, Harry’s goodwill can only do Malfoy some good.’

‘Oh please,’ Malfoy says loudly, catching their attention. ‘It’s not like this class is _necessary_.’

Professor Burbage’s face goes red. ‘Perhaps you would feel differently if I gave you detention?’

Malfoy shrugs. ‘I already have detention.’

‘So you don’t mind failing then?’

‘It’s _muggle studies_ ,’ Malfoy points out again, sneering.

Professor Burbage raises one eyebrow, her shoulders pulling back. ‘Very well,’ she says and turns sharply.

Malfoy and Potter both look surprised. They glance at each other, baffled, but the minute their eyes meet they look away again.

Lisa rolls her eyes. She glances at Earnie and says, ‘I hope they get kicked out.’

He grins at her. ‘I hear there’s a bet going around. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas are taking guesses on when they irritate a Professor into expelling them.’

Lisa grins. ‘Aren’t they Gryffindors?’

‘Yeah, but Seamus and Dean bet on everything. Although, I’ve heard a rumour that there’s _another_ bet—’

Professor Burbage turns around and Earnie cuts off. She stalks over to Potter and Malfoy’s shared desk, and drops two books in front of Malfoy (who jerks back rather comically).

‘What’s this?’ he asks.

‘I hear you like reading novels,’ she says briskly.

‘You do?’ Potter asks, eyebrows raised as he turns to look at Malfoy.

Indeed, Lisa is surprised too. The last thing she’d expect to be on Draco Malfoy’s hobby list is _novels_. She makes a point of jotting that tid-bit down in her observation list.

‘These,’ says Professor Burbage, ignoring Potter. ‘Are two fantasy novels. One, is written by a wizard. The other, is written by a muggle. If you can tell me which one is which, with adequate reasoning, I’ll pass you for the entire year.’

Malfoy straightens up.

‘Wait, _what_?’ Lisa blurts, gaping at Professor Burbage.

The rest of the class (all five of them, excluding Potter) gape at the Professor.

‘That’s not fair,’ Earnie says. ‘How come the rest of us can’t have that option?’

‘However,’ says Professor Burbage, holding up a hand to the class objections. ‘If you get it _wrong_ , or if I suspect you’ve had help, or if your reasonings for the book you’ve chosen are not adequate; then you will participate, willingly and without complaint, in every class for the rest of the year. Along with completing your equal share in a joint project with Potter.’

Everyone looks at Malfoy.

Potter leans over to have a look at the titles while Malfoy and Burbage have their staring competition.

‘One of those is written by a wizard?’ Potter asks, eyebrows raised.

‘It is indeed,’ says Professor Burbage, still staring at Malfoy. ‘Though I doubt any of you students would be able to tell the difference.’

‘Tch,’ Malfoy says Lisa can almost pin-point the moment Malfoy caves to the challenge in Professor Burbage’s gaze. He snatches up the books. ‘We’ll see about that.’

At this, Potter starts to chuckle. Malfoy shoots him a dark glare and Potter ducks his head. He presses his face into his arm and tries to stifle his laughter.

‘What’s so funny?’ Malfoy asks, affronted.

Potter looks up at him, a large grin stretching across his face. He glances back at Lisa and Earnie.

‘Trust me, you don’t want that option,’ he says, in answer to Earnie’s earlier question. ‘I was raised by muggles and I’ve no idea which author is the wizard.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes again. ‘Please, Potter,’ he says, selecting a book at random and opening it up. ‘You obviously don’t read.’

‘I’ve read those,’ Potter says, his tone delightful and just shy of antagonistic.

Malfoy pauses, glancing sideways at Potter.

Potter’s enjoyment in this situation is palpable. He settles back in his chair, smirking, and gestures at the book in Malfoy’s hands.

‘That was my favourite book as a kid,’ he says. ‘If I had to pick one, I’d put my money on that being the one by the wizard.’

‘Well,’ says Malfoy stiffly. ‘I wouldn’t trust your judgement to save a dying kitten, Potter.’

Potter just laughs.

Lisa sighs and wonders if they’ll _ever_ get back on track for the lesson.

Earnie leans over to her and says in a low voice. ‘I wonder if we can ask Professor Burbage for copies of those books. I’m interested in how dissimilar they are.’

Lisa leans up slightly in her chair, trying to catch a glimpse of the title of the book. ‘Me too,’ she says distractedly, tilting her head to read the words, wondering desperately who “Matilda” was and why she needed a whole book?


	11. Rattling Somethings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things start to progress and Blaise's is curiosity is left unsatisfied.

Chapter Eleven

_Rattling Somethings_

 

**_Blaise:_ **

‘Draco, darling, why are you _still_ reading that horrid muggle book?’ asks Pansy at breakfast.

‘It’s not a muggle book,’ Draco mutters. ‘Pass the coffee would you?’

Pansy arches one eyebrow at him, disdain flashing through her eyes. Draco has been switching back and forth between the two books for the last several days, scrawling sheets and sheets of notes to the point that it was bordering on obsessive. He’d barely participated in conversations, choosing instead to grunt, or plain ignore them. Pansy, obviously feeling left out, fumes, her finger nails drumming along the table top.

Blaise catches her eye and nudges the pumpkin juice closer to her. She smirks, picks up the jug and pours a mug for Draco, handing him the cup diligently.

Draco takes a sip and—to Blaise’s immense amusement—doesn’t even notice.

‘I didn’t think you’d decided which one was the wizarding novel yet,’ says Blaise, smirking.

This, at least, garners a reaction. Draco’s gaze flicks up at Blaise, narrowed and irritated. ‘I would, if you all didn’t keep irritating me while I’m trying to concentrate.’

‘You’ve read it three times,’ says Theo tiredly, staring down at his breakfast with a rather nauseated expression. ‘Surely you know by now.’

‘You’ve read it three times?’ asks Vince, wrinkling his nose as he squints at the book. ‘ _Why_?’

‘He has to, for class,’ explains Greg, although that isn’t at all the reason.

Vince shrugs. ‘Don’t know what’s so interesting about a book?’ he turns to Millicent—who is sitting on his other side—and asks, ‘You don’t like reading, do you?’

She laughs. ‘No,’ she says and Vince nods in relief.

Blaise raises an eyebrow and nudges Theo pointedly in the ribs. ‘Theo,’ he hisses, nudging him more when the sullen boy doesn’t look up. ‘Do you _see_ that?’

Theo sighs, and Blaise gives up, instead shooting Pansy a pointed look and gesturing his head toward Vince and Millicent.

Alas no one else seems to be paying attention and Blaise is left with the familiar frustration of being surrounded by intelligent people and yet being the _only_ one who ever notices things. He sighs.

‘It’s been a week,’ says Pansy, still trying to draw Draco out of his book. ‘It can’t take—Potter, what the _hell_ are you doing here?’

Potter drops down in the seat opposite Draco, a grin plastered firmly in place as he reaches out and snags the book out of Draco’s hands.

‘Hey! Give that—Potter? What the hell are you doing here?’

Potter’s grin broadens, looking back and forth between Draco and Pansy. ‘Do you guys practice your outraged responses?’ he asks, reaching for some bacon. ‘Because they’re eerily similar.’

He drops his gaze to the book, pushing his glasses up as his gaze scans the page. ‘Oh, I love this bit,’ he says around a mouthful. ‘You know, I had a secret crush on Sophie when I was a kid?’

Draco tries to snatch the book back, but Potter leans back, jerking the book out of reach. ‘Fascinating as this depressing tale is, Potter,’ Draco growls. ‘I want my book back.’

‘Really? But I thought you didn’t like boring muggle books?’ Potter taunts, grinning.

Draco pauses, gaze flickering down to the cover as uncertainty flashes through his gaze. He shakes his head, fists clenching as he glowers, as if his glare alone will pierce a hole in Potter’s head.

‘Well played,’ Blaise says, nudging Potter.

Potter throws him a mischievous wink and Draco glowers. He points his fork at Blaise.

‘You stay out of this,’ he snaps. ‘Potter, give me my book back.’

Potter shrugs, closes the book and hands it back. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I prefer the movie anyway.’

Confusion and—yes, there it is, curiosity. Draco has never been very good at not knowing things. ’Movie?’ he asks. ‘What the hell is a movie?’

Potter leans over the table, as if he’s divulging a secret. ‘I could tell you…but then how would you tell Professor Burbage that you think all muggle inventions are rubbish?’

Draco rolls his eyes. ‘Fuck off, Potter.’

Potter laughs. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘But first, which one are you picking, I’m curious.’

‘Why should I tell you?’

‘Well, seeing as your decision directly affects the rest of my year in muggle studies, I figured I have a right to know.’

Draco scoffs. He reopens his book and pointedly begins reading again. Potter watches him for a moment, head tilted, green eyes bright and contemplative, a smile building at the corners of his mouth.

Blaise wonders if the boy realises how readable his expressions are. He tries to catch Theo’s gaze, but the boy is still staring morosely at this food, so Theo kicks him under the table. Theo winces and shoots Blaise a sharp glare. Blaise widens his eyes and tilts his head ever so slightly toward Potter. Theo’s looks and his eyes narrow.

‘Is there are reason you’re still sitting here, Potter?’ asks Pansy, drumming her nails along the table top.

‘Just ignore him,’ Draco mutters, already absorbed back into his book. ‘It’s what I do.’

The grin erupts back onto Potter’s face. ‘You couldn’t ignore me if—’

‘Oi, Harry!’

Potter stops mid sentence, leaning back to glance toward the shout.

Weasley and Granger stand near the entrance hall. Weasley has a baffled look on his face, staring at Potter as if he’s lost his marbles. Granger just looks amused. Blaise catches her eye and smirks. She arches a brow and rolls her eyes.

‘Gotta go,’ says Potter, pushing up. He pauses, hands still on the table as he looks down at Draco. ‘But you better make a decision fast. Today is the deadline for class projects, and I’m picking one with or without you.’

Draco scoffs. ‘As if I care,’ he says.

Potter straightens, smirk slipping back into place. ‘Great. Just checking,’ he says and shoots Blaise another wink. ‘Guess I’ll just go with the toaster then.’

Draco’s shoulders tense. His brows furrow and his eyes have stopped moving and Blaise just _knows_ he’s trying to figure out if he knows what a toaster is. Blaise, for one, doesn’t have a fucking clue.

‘If you think for one second I’m spending an entire year studying something that cooks bread, you’ve got another thing coming Potter.’

Potter laughs, surprise making his voice carry, and Blaise sees several students from other houses turn to stare.

‘I’m impressed,’ says Potter. ‘Maybe there’s hope for you yet.’

Draco looks up again, a scowl firmly in place and no doubt a scathing retort of epic proportions prepared and ready to be delivered but Potter is already gone, hands in his pockets as he joins his fellow Gryffindors.

‘Well, that was weird,’ says Blaise, turning an inquiring gaze back on Draco. ‘Seems you two are getting on better.’

Draco scoffs. ‘Potter is a moron.’

‘Perhaps, but your tolerance for said moron seems to be improving.’

‘One will develop a tolerance for anything given enough exposure,’ says Draco, refocusing back on his book. ‘I’m just trying to keep from catching that Gryffindor idiocy. I still despise him.’

‘Duly noted,’ says Blaise, with only a _little_ sarcasm.

Draco, of course, doesn’t notice. He’s already been sucked back into his book.

***

Blaise is bored. His fellow sixth years have long since abandoned him for homework or sleep, a fact that has Blaise rather disappointed being that it’s a friday night and all. Really, who goes to bed before nine on a _friday_?

He should’ve been in Gryffindor. He’d bet his entire wardrobe that _they_ didn’t sit around doing homework and sleeping on a weekend.

The common room door swings open.

Blaise looks up from his languid inspection of the ceiling to see Draco step through, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He makes his way across to the group of sofas recently acquired by the sixth years (an acquisition that resulted in a rather vicious scuffle between Pansy and two seventh years and yet another restructure in the power hierarchy that ruled over Slytherin house).

Blaise straightens. ‘You’re getting in late,’ he remarks.

Draco dumps his bag on the table and drops into the couch. ‘Is it?’ he asks, letting his head fall back.

‘Er, yes,’ says Blaise. ‘In fact, I’d actaully though you’d already gotten back. Didn’t detention finish over an hour ago?’

Draco grunts, but doens’t offer any explanation. Blaise shrugs and decides to snoop amongst the items that have spilled out of Draco’s bag. Several books, some notes and a strange little black box have scattered themselves across the table. Blaise frowns and picks up the small, rectangular box, except there is a wire attached. He gives it a curious tug, and the thing comes loose. The wire splits into two, coming to an end with two strange little rubbery buds on the end.

‘What’s this?’

‘Hm?’

Blaise glances up to see that Draco hasn’t moved. He’s still stairing up at the ceiling in much the same manner that Blaise had been mere moments before.

‘Er, the black…cube thing.’

Draco shrugs, not bothering to look away from his inspection of the ceiling. ‘Apparently it’s called a “walkman”. Whatever that means.’

‘I see.’

‘At least someone does. I’ve no fucking idea what it does.’

Blaise grins. ‘I take it muggle studies didn’t go quite according to plan?’

Draco sighs. ‘I picked the wrong book,’ he says. ‘Now I have to spend the whole year doing…something. I forget.’

Blaise chuckles. ‘Very informative.’

Draco doesn’t even bite. Blaise tilts his head.

‘So,’ he says after a beat of silence. ‘Which book was it?’

Seeing that Draco had changed his mind four times over the course of the morning—and once more in the half hour before class—Blaise isn’t sure which book Draco had actually chosen.

‘Matilda was the muggle book,’ says Draco.

‘She was the one you thought was exhibiting accidental magic?’

‘Yep.’

‘I see.’

Draco sighs again. ‘Life is confusing,’ he says to the ceiling.

Blaise’s eyebrows shoot up. Considering this is probably the longest conversation the two of them have ever had without it coming to insults, Blaise has to agree with that statement.

‘It is indeed,’ he says, then, deciding that it can’t hurt to ask, he says, ‘But why in particular?’

‘Well for starters it just doesn’t make any logical sense,’ says Draco, and he sits up in a sudden surge of movement, straightening to face Blaise. ‘Matilda was the book whose magic was the same as ours. Granted, she didn’t have a wand, but then, neither did Howl. But _his_ magic was so utterly different, so why does it make any sense at all that _that_ book came from a wizard and Matilda came from a muggle? And the writer didn’t even have _any_ connections to the wizarding world. I checked.’

‘Er, well…’ Blaise says, but Draco continues.

’Then, Professor Burbage has to go and be all understanding. You know she actually apologised? To _me_? I’ve been a complete prat in her class, you know. I was hoping she’d kick me out, and then I wouldn’t have to spend another blasted hour of my day stuck with _Potter_ who….who…Ugh!’

‘I take it detention didn’t go well, either,’ remarks Blaise.

Draco blushes. He actually blushes and it takes Blaise’s brain a moment to catch up to what he’s seeing. In what universe does Draco Malfoy _blush_?

‘I…no,’ says Draco, though he doesn’t at all sound sure. ‘He’s just so…I mean I can’t…I just…’

‘Despise him?’ Blaise suggests.

Draco opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes himself. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Exactly.’

His blush, if possible, deepens.

‘Did something…happen?’ Blaise asks.

Nothing really changes in Draco’s expression, except that nothing really changes. There’s no shock, no comical widening of the eyes at Blaise’s suggestion, no embarrassed squawk; but then there’s no outrage either. No flush of anger or indignant screech of protest.

‘No,’ says Draco, his voice even.

‘Oh,’ says Blaise.

Silence stretches between them. Draco’s blush fades and he glances down at the mess his bag has spilled onto the table. His eyes find the strange little muggle contraption still clutched in Blaise’s hands.

He blinks. ’I’m going to bed,’ he says in a rush and practically disappears before Blaise’s eyes.

Blaise turns, watching the blond bolt down the stairwell toward their dorm and almost feels impressed at how clearly rattled Draco is. ‘Jesus Potter, what did you _do_ to him?’ he mutters, and then adds, ‘And can you teach me how to do it?’


	12. Flustered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry and Draco are both a little out of sorts and everyone else is confused.
> 
> And, uh, I refuse to apologise...I enjoyed writing this far too much.

Chapter Twelve

_Flustered_

 

**_Professor McGonagall:_ **

As Minerva approaches the latest room Potter and Malfoy have been tasked with cleaning, she notices a distinct lack of arguing. Usually, by the time she arrives to release them from their weekly detention they’ve devolved into endless bickering.

Worry settles in her gut, and as she opens the door she prepares to send one or both of them to the Hospital Wing. She’s already thinking of ways to punish them for whatever fight they’ve had (moving their detentions to friday nights obviously hadn’t made much of an impact) so she’s surprised when she steps into the room to find Draco Malfoy sitting at the front of the room, fingers drumming on the table top and completely alone.

‘Mr Malfoy,’ she says.

The boy jerks, head snapping around to look at her, grey eyes going wide in shock. ‘Professor,’ he says, as if he hadn’t expected to see her.

She raises one eyebrow. ‘Were you expecting someone else?’

‘Er, no,’ says Malfoy, gaze dropping back down to the tabletop.

Minerva’s interest pique’s but she lets none of it show on her face. Her gaze flicks around, scrutinising the room.

‘Where’s Mr Potter?’ she asks.

‘He, uh, he was,’ Malfoy frowns down at the table top, twisting his hands around the rag he’s been cleaning with. ‘He was sick.’

‘Sick?’ Minerva asks, voice sharp. ‘What happened?’

Malfoy shrugs. ‘I don’t know,’ he says, and he sounds frustrated, glaring down at the rag he’s twisted around and around.

Minerva can’t help the surprise from showing this time. She pauses, suspecting that Malfoy is telling the truth. She tries a different tactic.

‘Did he show up?’

Malfoy nods.

‘But he left?’

‘Yes,’ says Malfoy, and a flash of that familiar disrespectful ire crosses his face. ‘Like I said. He…wasn’t feeling well. He left.’

‘I see,’ says Minerva, though she doesn’t. ‘You were okay with that?’

Malfoy shrugs. ‘Not like I had a choice when he left,’ he mutters.

Minerva purses her lips. ‘Well, rest assured Mr Malfoy, I will speak to Potter about shirking his responsibilities—’

‘Uh, please don’t,’ says Malfoy, looking up at her.

Perhaps it’s the unexpected “please”, but she doesn’t berate the boy for interrupting her. ‘Why not?’

Malfoy frowns. He shakes his head, glances up at her and drawls, ‘Well he _did_ look more pathetic than usual, and personally I’d rather finish the job myself than risk catching whatever disease Potter is trying to spread around the school.’

Minerva yet again raises her eyebrows. The words are right—for Malfoy, at least—but the tone of his voice is off. The irritation not quite as convincing as it usually is. Minerva frowns and flicks another glance around the room.

It’s spotless, but that doesn’t stop the suspicion from whirring in her mind. Malfoy’s behaviour is just too odd. Something else has happened here tonight.

Unfortunately, as her gaze settles back on Malfoy, she very much doubts that she’s going to get any answers here.

‘Very well,’ she says. ‘I will refrain from speaking to Mr Potter, provided this doesn’t happen again. You’re in detention together for a reason, if you recall.’

Malfoy scowls. ‘I recall.’

‘Good, you may go.’

Malfoy all but flees the room, leaving Minerva to wonder whether or not she should bother tracking down Potter to find out what happened. She decides against it, realising that Albus would only question her if he found out, and she doesn’t need to give the man any more reason to play favourites than usual.

**_***_ **

**_Luna:_ **

There’s a faint glow to the night air, as if a flock of fairies have come streaming through the corridors lacing the air with hopes and dreams and babies laughter. There’s no hint of wrackspurts, and Luna wonders if her charms are starting to work, or if something else has chased them off. Something like the glowing beauty of a storming night.

Luna smiles, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She adores storms. They are the lifeblood of the earth, filling the air with a vibrating hum that echoes through her bones right down to her soul. She wants to rush outside, burry her toes in the grass and just gaze up into fury of the storm.

Even from inside she can smell it. She breathes it in. The fresh smell of rain, the dewy tang of grass and the musky scent of…broomsticks?

She comes to a stop, barefoot on the cool marble floor, and opens her eyes.

Harry Potter is walking toward her, completely soaked from head to toe, his school shoes squelching with every trudging step along the hallway and leaving little puddles of water in his wake.

He doesn’t notice her and she smiles, wondering what daydreams his mind has taken him to. She pauses, are they called day dreams when it’s night time?

With a little shake, Luna breaks herself out of her thoughts and steps to one side, smile widening as Harry passes right by her without even seeing her.

Normally she would call out to him to say hello, but he looks so at ease (despite his sodden state) in his wanderings that she doesn’t have the heart to break him from whatever reverie he’s lost in.

There’s no sign of the wrackspurts that have been plaguing him. Indeed, his shoulders are relaxed, and the usual creases around his eyes are smoothed out. They have a faraway, lost look about them, as if he’s not entirely here—and Luna suspects he isn’t.

She watches him go. Somewhere in the distance the thunder roils, and Luna decides that if Harry can be off enjoying the rain, then so can she.

She turns and heads off with new resolve, leaving Harry to wander about the Castle, lost in the glow of the stormy night air.

**_***_ **

**_Neville:_ **

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger,’ Neville chants, hurrying along the corridors.

He’s late. He’s very, very late. He’s so late that his clumsiness hitches up a notch and he trips up the first step of the stairwell leading from the great hall and drops his bag.

Books and notes and soil samples spill everywhere, cascading down the steps and scattering across the floor. He curses. He curses again. Then he blushes at his own use of the rather colourful language.

With a helpless sigh, he pulls out his wand and flicks it at his things, trying to order them back into his back. They resist him, scattering off into various directions, and he frowns, trying to concentrate.

‘Back in the bag,’ he mutters to himself.

He’s still getting used to his new wand, and as his worry sores (twisting around his stomach like Devil’s Snare) he jabs at the items a little too hard.

More magic than he knows what to do with shoots out of his wand. His inkwell explodes, but this rather seems to encourage the rest of his things to do as they’re told, and aside from his ruined ink everything else stacks itself obediently in his bag.

With a sigh of relief, he grabs at it and hurries back up the stairs.

Only to run headlong into someone two floors up. He staggers backwards, his head spinning, and wonders if it’s at all possible for him _not_ to have a catastrophic day.

‘Sorry,’ he says, rubbing his head and looking up. ‘Didn’t see you—Malfoy?’ he chokes off, coughing over his own words once he sees who exactly it is he’s run into.

He flinches, waiting for the inevitable hex or stinging insult, but Malfoy just blinks at him. ‘Longbottom,’ he says, and his gaze flickers over Neville’s shoulders. ‘Where are you coming from?’

‘Er,’ says Neville, and he’s so surprised by the lack of hostility that he actually answers the question. ‘The greenhouses. I was finishing some homework.’

Malfoy’s gaze flicks back to his face. ‘Downstairs?’ he asks, but before Neville can affirm that, yes, he was in the greenhouses downstairs (he’s not entirely sure if this is a joke, but one can’t be too careful when concerning Malfoy) the other boy continues. ‘Haven’t seen Potter, have you?’

‘Er, no, sorry.’

Malfoy frowns, a scowl flitting into place, and Neville swears he sees a hint of disappointment in the expression. ‘Damn,’ he says, and he’s looking back down the hallway again, as if Harry will just magically appear there. ‘If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.’

‘Er, sure.’

Malfoy nods. He starts to step around Neville, only to pause and turn back. ‘And, uh, tell him that he owes me. Again. For covering for him, that is. With McGonagall.’

Malfoy runs a hand through his hair, dislodging the normally pristine style he has it in, and sighs. He looks around the corridor and frowns.

‘You should probably get back to Gryffindor,’ he says. ‘It’s almost curfew.’

Then he turns and disappears back in the direction Neville came from.

Neville stands there in the corridor, completely baffled, and not entirely sure that the minute he starts walking again he isn’t going to be hexed.

He shakes his head, tries to put Malfoy’s bizarre turn of character out of his mind, and focuses on the one important thing Malfoy said.

It’s almost curfew, and he _really_ doesn’t want to be the cause of Gryffindor loosing yet _more_ house points.

**_***_ **

**_Madam Pomfrey:_ **

She hears the Infirmary door burst open from two rooms away. Marking her place in the book she’s researching, she tucks it and her notes safely away in a draw before casting a soft, but strong locking charm and heading out into the infirmary.

Poppy pauses in the doorway and reflects that she shouldn’t be surprised to see Harry Potter pacing back and forth along the base of the beds. She watches him for a moment, noting the tension in his shoulders, the clenching and unclenching of his fists, the way he chews on his bottom lip as he marches back and forth across the span of three beds.

She notes, with some amusement, that he’s gravitated toward his usual bed, and considers that a sign that he is, at least, still mostly in control of his faculties.

‘Mr Potter,’ she calls and he whips around so fast she’s surprised she doesn’t hear the crack of a broken bone.

‘You’re here,’ he gasps, and something like relief washes over him—except that it’s a little too desperate to be relief. ‘You have to help. I… I think there’s something _wrong_ with me. I…I did something. I did something _nuts_. It’s crazy. I’ve gone _crazy_.’

‘Sit down, Potter,’ she says sharply, crossing over to him.

As she nears, she realises that he’s soaking wet, and as he drops onto the edge of his bed, her first order of business is to cast a drying spell.

‘I think I’ve gone mad,’ he says again.

He’s pale and shivering and looks up at her from behind his glasses with a wild sort of desperation.

‘Head down, Mr Potter,’ she says and summons several calming droughts.

He lowers his head, leaning on his knees and letting it hang toward the floor.

‘Deep breaths,’ she instructs, and casts another diagnostic spell.

She frowns. Despite his clear agitation, he’s not having a panic attack. She casts another spell,searching for any bumps or bruises or breaks; when that spell turns up nothing, she tries another.

Once his breathing has retuned within the range of normal, she asks, ’What happened?’

‘I…I did something,’ he says again, his words slightly muffled.

He runs his hands through his hair and groans.

‘I did something _insane_ ,’ he amends, and then he’s up again, surging to his feet.

He stares at her, eyes wide, and then jerks away and begins to pace.

‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ he says. ‘I don’t…I’m not…I don’t _understand_. How can this just _happen_? To _me_? About _him_? God, I think I’m gonna throw up.’

Poppy frowns. There’s no hint of foul play. No hexes, curses or jinxes. Not residue potion. Not tell-tale signs of a fight. He’s perfectly healthy.

Well, as healthy as Potter ever is.

He’s not even having a panic attack. Not a real one, anyway. No, this is something that she’s beginning to recognise as a normal, teenage freakout (for want of a better word). She sighs.

‘Potter—’

‘I didn’t even _realise_ ,’ he says, mumbling now, his eyes wide and his breathing growing rapid. ‘How could I not _realise_. It doesn’t make any sense. I must be under a spell. I’m under a spell, right? _Right_? Because…because if I…if I…oh god I can’t even _say_ it.’

‘Potter,’ Poppy barks, growing exasperated. ‘calm down and just _tell me_ what happened.’

Finally Potter stops his restless pacing and sinks back into the bed with a heavy defeat. He stares at the floor and mumbles something incoherent.

‘Sorry?’

He sighs. ‘I kissed him,’ he says, and glances up at her. ‘I kissed Malfoy.’

Well, she wasn’t expecting _that_.


	13. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet; major fluff and goofiness warning. Hope you love it as much as I do ;) 
> 
> (Also a few little hints for you in this one too).

Chapter Thirteen

_Kiss_

 

**_Harry:_ **

The change comes gradually…unexpectedly, creeping through Harry’s thoughts with such subtlety that he doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Until he’s well and truly transfixed. Until his mouth is pressed firmly against unexpectedly soft lips, drawing forth a faint gasp of air, a sharp intake of breath that sends the heartbeat under Harry’s palm racing and warmth bursting through Harry’s insides like warm honey. Honey and lemons, he thinks, the smell tickling at his nose, drawing him further into this momentary insanity without him even realising.

He’s too caught up in the moment to realise. At first at least. After all, it’s so nice, this warmth. Comforting. _Safe_.

A soft smile lifts his lips and he draws back, feeling more content than he has in weeks. _Months_ even. Since before…well he can’t even remember.

Unfortunately it’s right about then when reality comes crashing down around him.

The stunned, too-wide expression on Draco Malfoy’s face jerks him back to the present and a cold feeling of horror washes over Harry, chasing away the contentedness.

‘Oh god,’ he whispers.

He scrambles backwards, off Malfoy, and straight back into the pool of spilled water—which had been the cause of their ending up sprawled on the floor together in the first place. That and the argument they’d been having.

Malfoy sits up, slowly, still giving Harry that wide eyed stare and Harry thinks he might throw up. Or pass out. He’s not entirely sure which, only that his insides have just turned to jelly and his brain is short circuiting over the monumental realisation that he’s just kissed Draco Malfoy.

He, Harry Potter, Gryffindor extraordinaire, has just laid one on Draco Too-Good-For-Everyone Sodding Malfoy. Which begs the question of _why—_ the only logical answer of which sends Harry into full blown panic mode.

Did he…?

No…no it’s absurd. He can’t. He _doesn’t_. Does he?

He stares back at Malfoy. At the wide grey eyes and high cheekbones and the soft, pale hair slightly ruffled from their tousle and consequent fall. _Not_ from the kiss. He looks at Malfoy’s lips, and the slight part. His breath comes in short sharp bursts and he can smell the lemon and honey scent again and it’s at once calming and terrifying.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

He _does_.

Harry tries to swallow but finds his throat has gone dry. His chest restricts painfully and he’s all too aware of the baffled confusion and mounting realisation building in Malfoy’s expression and oh god he wishes the ground would swallow him up whole right here and now.

He does the only thing he can think to do under the circumstances. Right as Malfoy is opening his mouth to speak—no doubt to rightfully ask what the _fuck_ Harry thought he was doing—Harry scrambles to his feet and runs.

He bursts out the door of the classroom they’re supposed to be scrubbing, staggers down the hallway in a momentary loss of balance, rights himself, and bolts.

Harry is good at running. Always has been. He thinks he hears a shout behind him, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s just ditched out on detention. Or that McGonagall will probably blast him for it when she finds out. Or that he’s left Draco Bloody Malfoy sitting baffled in a puddle of spilt cleaning water.

All he cares about is running.

He runs until he can’t breathe. Until he can’t think. Until the endless churning chorus of _I kissed Draco Malfoy. I kissed Draco Malfoy. Oh my god I fucking kissed Draco fucking Malfoy._ Is drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears and the desperate panting of his own breath.

When he finally stops running, he’s at the astronomy tower. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Years of Harry Hunting have conditioned him to seek out the highest possible point to hide. Probably why he enjoys flying so much.

He blinks out at the pouring rain, sweaty and puffed, his heart hammering against his chest and feeling oddly calm despite the heavy droplets quickly soaking into his school robes.

‘Okay,’ he mutters softly to himself and runs his hands through his already damp hair. ‘Okay. It’s okay. You can handle this. It was just a kiss. Albeit it’s _Malfoy…’_ he shakes his head, spattering water everywhere, and leans back against the cool stone wall. ‘There has to be a logical reason, right? I mean, I don’t just go around kissing random blokes, so maybe it was a hex or something. Or…or…’

For the life of him he can’t think of anything else. Nothing, of course, except the obvious.

Moments start crashing through his mind. The Alley. The Attack. Draco sodding Malfoy desperately casting healing charms and cradling his head. Draco pulling him into the space between carriages on the Hogwarts Express so no one could see Harry having a melt down. Draco Malfoy taking him to the Hospital wing and not telling a single person when Madam Pomfrey declares that he’s fine, he’s just having _panic attacks_.

He shakes his head again. ‘Get a grip, Harry. These are not reasons to like Draco Malfoy. It’s just some…weird phase of having a conscience.’

Except that having a conscience doesn’t explain why Malfoy willingly got obsessed over muggle books and knows what a toaster does and is okay with Harry’s choice of class project (if a little reluctant and weary).

Harry slaps his hands to his cheeks. Hard. ‘You _do not_ have a crush on bloody Malfoy,’ he says. ‘He’s not even that nice! It was just…a moment of insanity!’

Insanity. Yeah. Like talking to yourself in the rain at the top of the astronomy tower.

The astronomy tower, where Draco made a dig about Slughorn that made Harry laugh. Draco had been so surprised, his eyes almost a soft blue as he stared at Harry before offering a small, amused smile that softened his features. He’d looked so nice like that. Unreserved. Open. Attractive, even.

‘Fuck,’ Harry whispers, the pit of his stomach clenching. ‘ _Fuck.’_

Yep. Insanity.

Clearly he’s gone stark raving mad.


	14. Blushes and Excuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know, I know, I'm two updates behind. Have no fear, I've not abandoned the story already. Rather, there's a severe stomach bug going around the city I live in and I've spent the last week being violently ill, which doesn't really lend itself to good writing - thus why this chapter is so short. Never fear though, I hope to make it up to you, if not in the next chapter but the one after that.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy, even if it is a little on the shorter side :)

Chapter Fourteen

_Blushes and Excuses_

 

**_Blaise:_ **

Draco is missing. This isn’t an entirely unusual circumstance as the boy is _always_ disappearing (Blaise half suspects that Draco only does it to rouse his housemates curiosity), but following the blushing incident the night before, Blaise’s interest is more than roused.

As such, when lunchtime rolls around and Draco still hasn’t shown up, Blaise takes an entirely different route to his table—in that he _doesn’t_ go to his table. He goes instead to Gryffindor.

Ignoring the raised eyebrows from both the Gryffindors and no doubt his own housemates he slides into the seat opposite Potter with a genial smile.

‘Morning Potter,’ he says. ‘Haven’t seen Draco lurking around anywhere have you? We seem to have misplaced him.’

Potter, who had barely even noticed Blaise sitting down despite the drop off in conversation around him (honestly, _this_ was the saviour of the world?) almost chokes on his breakfast. ‘What?’ he asks, hoarse and strained as he tries to breathe through the food he’s just inhaled. He looks up at Blaise with wide green eyes. ‘No, why would I know where Drac—Mal-Malfoy is?’

Blaise smirks and raises an eyebrow at the slip up. So, it’s _Draco_ now, is it?

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Granger narrow her gaze at Potter, those sharp brown eyes (rather pretty, now that he’s paying her some attention) watching her friend with piercing intensity. Blaise can almost see the cogs turning in that voluptuous brain of hers.

‘Just an hunch,’ says Blaise, and reaches out to snag a piece of bacon out from under Weasley’s hand. ‘He’s not in any of the usual places, so I figured I might check the _unusual_ places. Unusual, these days, tends to mean you.’

By now, a significant portion of the table is eavesdropping and Blaise relishes in the irritated glare Granger is not-so-surreptitiously shooting his way. Well, if she didn’t want him goading information out of Potter she should’ve been more explicit with the specifics of their bet. As it is though, teasing Potter into tripping up is fair play.

Potter himself is tense as a wire, and yet more than a little flustered. An interesting red tinge creeps up his neck. For someone so often in the limelight, Potter isn’t exactly comfortable under scrutiny.

‘Me?’ he asks.

Blaise inclines his head. ‘You.’

Potter frowns. ‘So, because we have to share classes together now, I must know where he is at all times?’

‘Well you two _have_ developed a habit of sneaking off to the library,’ Blaise says. ‘You can blame us for thinking you might know where his new hideouts are.’

‘Are you trying to imply something?’ Weasley snaps, but Granger puts a calming hand on his arm.

‘You can hardly call it _sneaking off_ when neither Harry nor Malfoy are making any effort to hide the fact they’re studying together,’ she says mildly, raising at eyebrow at Blaise as if he’s foolish for thinking otherwise (and, he notes, deliberately keeping her voice at hearing volume for all those listening in). ‘What do you expect them to do? Fail their assignments?’

Blaise smirks and dips his head in acknowledgement. ‘True,’ he says, but he’s still watching Potter.

Watching the way the red flush intensifies up Potter’s neck when Blaise accuses him of “sneaking off”, the way he shifts, glancing at his friends and down at his plate, frowning and unable to quiet meet anyone’s gaze.

‘Look, I don’t know where he is,’ he says in a low voice, oddly compliant all of a sudden. ‘You’ll have to ask someone else.’

‘Hm,’ says Blaise, and props an elbow on the table. ‘Somehow I’m unconvinced.’

Potter’s gaze snaps back up, irritation flashing. ‘You think I’m lying?’

‘No,’ says Blaise. ‘But I think if I hang out here long enough, Draco will turn up.’

Weasley rolls his eyes. ‘Harry’s already said he doesn’t know where the stupid git is, so why don’t you go look somewhere else?’

Blaise smiles.

‘Fascinating though this conversation is,’ says Granger, sounding oddly like the very person they’ve been talking about. ‘We have plans for the afternoon.’

‘You mean, aside from meeting up with Malfoy?’ Weasley asks, grinning at Potter.

Potter just frowns.

‘Oh,’ says Longbottom, piping up from two seats down of Blaise, looking at Potter with those earnest, puppy dog eyes. ‘he was looking for you, by the way.’

Potter blinks. ‘Who was looking for me?’

‘Malfoy,’ says Longbottom. ‘Last night.’

‘Last…last night?’ Potter asks, going pale.

Longbottom nods. ‘I ran into him on my way back to the tower. Sorry, I meant to tell you but I was worried about getting back before curfew, and you didn’t get back to the dorm until late anyway…’

Longbottom trails off, seems to realise he’s let something slip that he shouldn’t have and flushes a bright crimson colour, dropping his gaze back to his breakfast.

‘You didn’t get back until after curfew?’ Granger asks, her voice sharp but her gaze steady and unblinking.

Blaise has to admire her control of tone; the whipcrack force that conveyed concern with just the right amount of underlying disapproval to have Potter flinching at her words.

‘I, er, detention ran…late,’ says Potter, dropping his gaze down and away.

‘Oh?’ asks Blaise, his smirk widening. ‘Interesting.’

‘Why is that interesting?’ Weasley asks, rolling his eyes and shooting Blaise a particularly unpleasant look. ‘Are we done here yet?’

Considering that he still has half a plate full of food with no signs of stopping anytime soon, Blaise highly doubts that Weasley is in any great hurry to get to these supposed “plans” the trio have.

There’s movement in the corner of Blaise’s eye. Someone with rather blonde hair has just entered the Great Hall, but Blaise doesn’t take his eyes off Potter.

‘Just that Draco _didn’t_ get back late from detention last night,’ says Blaise. ‘Curious, isn’t it?’ before Potter can answer, Blaise shifts his focus, the smirk never wavering from his face, and looks up into the furious gaze of one Draco Malfoy. ‘Ah, Draco, _there_ you are. I thought you might show up here.’

‘I’m surprised you had any _thoughts_ at all, Zabini,’ Draco drawls, cool grey eyes steady on Blaise’s face.

Blaise grins, but it’s Potter’s reaction that’s interesting.

The minute Draco speaks, Potter jumps. He looks up, going even paler, making the bright pink blush that swarms across his cheeks stand out even more. His adams apple bobs and he drops his gaze almost instantly.

Draco doesn’t even look at him. ‘Are you done with whatever game you’re playing? I’d rather not stay too long, I might catch something.’

Weasley bristles, but again Granger lays a hand on his arm.

‘Maybe you could catch some manners,’ she says, glaring.

Draco flicks her a contemptuous glance, but otherwise keeps his gaze steadfastly _away_ from Potter. Something that neither Blaise nor Granger miss (if her narrowed gaze is any indication).

Blaise, for his part, looks around and smiles lazily. ‘You know, I think I am done, actually.’ He tips an imaginary hat to Granger and pushes up from the table.

‘So,’ says Blaise, shoving his hands in his pockets as he follows Draco away from the table. ‘Just _where_ have you been?’

‘Flying,’ Draco says shortly. ‘Needed to let off some steam.’

‘Oh?’

Draco says nothing and Blaise knows he’s not going to get anything further out of him. Whatever is on his mind, flying has—at the very least—helped him regain his composure. His thoughts are back under lock and key and there’s not even a hint of the elusive blush Blaise had seen the night before; nor the baffled confusion.

Nothing except that steadfast refusal to even _look_ at Potter. No sneer, no snarky, taunting comments. Whatever happened in detention the night before, it has both of them on edge.

Suddenly, Blaise can’t _wait_ for class on Monday.


	15. Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter since I was so slack last week. Also, I apologise, I've barely edited this - I'm on a roll so I didn't really stop to reread. Also a little tipsy :P so enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen

_Curse_

 

**_Hermione:_ **

Glass shatters into the quiet hum of the potions room as ingredients and tools go scattering across the table and floor, drawing the attention of every head in the room, including Hermione’s.

Harry’s face is crimson, and he stutters out a half hearted apology, already ducking down to grab at the things he’s just dropped everywhere. Hermione raises an eyebrow, her gaze going almost instinctively to Malfoy who is, curiously, staring at Harry with caution—as if he’s worried any sudden movements might startle Harry even further.

Considering how jumpy Harry’s been this morning, Hermione doesn’t blame him. Setting her cauldron to stir twenty more times on it’s own, she slips from her chair and ducks down to help Harry.

‘You okay?’ she asks.

Wide green eyes snap to her face. His fingers brush against a bulbous root, sending it rolling further across the floor. ’Er, yeah,’ he says, voice low and cheeks flushed as he reaches out after the root. ‘Just clumsy.’

She offers him a reassuring smile, gathering up several of the ingredients. ‘I think most of them are still usable at least.’

‘Yeah,’ he says.

He stands and she follows him, depositing the ingredients back on the table. Harry glances at Malfoy, flushes, and drops his gaze back to his notebook.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles.

Hermione watches them for a moment, carefully placing her own handful of gathered ingredients on the table with deliberate slowness.

Malfoy blinks. ‘Sure,’ he says, his voice stiff. He’s still watching Harry with that cautious gaze.

He catches Hermione looking, frowns, and turns back to his cauldron. ‘Think you can manage not to throw everything off the table again?’

‘There’s no need to be rude,’ Hermione says before she can help herself.

Harry shoots her a desperate, and yet silencing glare. ‘Don’t,’ he whispers to her. ‘I’ve got it.’

Hermione grits her teeth, but nods. ‘Alright,’ she says, and lays a hand on his arm. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

Malfoy sighs. ‘He’s a big boy, Granger. He can handle two hours without your help.’

Harry flushes again and pulls his arm free of her.

Hermione nods, stepping away from the table, but glaring at Malfoy for good measure. He stares back, impassive and immovable.

When he turns back to Harry, he pauses, as if making sure Harry has his eye son him before he moves. Hermione doesn’t hear what he says, but she sees the way Harry’s shoulders relax and assumes that whatever is going on between them they’ve decided to do what they always do and ignore it in favour of classwork.

Hermione rolls her eyes, but gets back to her potion. A moment later someone pokes her in the back, and Hermione turns to see Ron leaning forward behind her.

‘What was all that about?’ he asks.

Hermione shrugs. ‘I don’t know,’ she says honestly. ‘You didn’t notice anything strange this morning, did you?’

Ron shrugs. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Although…he had another nightmare last night.’

Hermione frowns. Nightmares _could_ explain why he was so on edge today, and yet, Harry tended to grow quite and morose when he was dwelling on nightmares. This jumpiness was different. The blushing and the instant apologies and instinct to duck his head. It was as if he was embarrassed, as if he expected everyone to just start laughing at him.

The smell of lavender caught Hermione’s attention, and she turned back to her cauldron, ready to implement the next step.

There’s a splash to her left, followed quickly by a gasp. ‘Fuck!’

Two seconds later Harry and Malfoy’s cauldron explodes.

Harry, leaning over his ingredients slicing carefully, looks up. He takes off his glasses and wipes the goop off, glancing over at Malfoy who is covered head to toe in bright blue potion. The boy is scowling furiously, glaring at his cauldron. Harry winces.

‘Er,’ he says. ‘I really hope that wasn’t my fault.’

‘No,’ scowls Malfoy, kicking at the cauldron. ‘It wasn’t your bloody fault. Fuck’s sake.’

Professor Slughorn comes bustling over to their table. ‘Now, now Mr Malfoy, whilst a regrettable outcome, it’s not worth such language,’ he says, pulling out his wand and giving it a swift flick.

Some of the sludge, which somehow didn’t manage to spatter any further than the immediate radius around their desk, siphons away into a vial the professor produces from inside his robes.

‘Here you are,’ says the Professor, holding the vial out to Harry. ‘Take that up to Madam Pomfrey and have her check you both over. I’m sure there’ll be no harm done, but can’t be too sure now, can we.’

He smiles, flicks his wand again and Harry and Malfoy are both clean.

Harry seems to hesitate. He looks down at the vial in his hands as if he’s unsure what to do with it.

‘Off you pop,’ says Slughorn. ‘On to the Infirmary now.’

Harry blinks, slipping his glasses back on, and glances over at Malfoy. ‘Er, together?’

A few people chuckle, Malfoy rolls his eyes and Hermione frowns.

‘Of course he means together,’ Malfoy says, reaching over and yanking Harry out of his seat. ‘Fear not Potter, I’ll keep ten metres away at all times if it helps keep you calm. Heavens knows I can’t afford to catch anymore of your clumsiness than I already have.’

Malfoy is still scowling as he shoves Harry’s bag at him and stomps toward the door, only glancing back over his shoulder at the door to give Harry an impatient look.

The blush is back, and a surge of frustration sweeps over Hermione as she watches her embarrassed friend hurry after Malfoy, looking more confused and far less annoyed than he usually does.

Just _what_ is going on with Harry?

***

Later, after Harry has fumbled his way through the rest of the days classes (drawing more attention to himself since the start of the year), Ron and Hermione sit waiting for him to get back from his second mysterious meeting with Dumbledore.

When he does, he traipses into the room with a vacant expression—almost reminiscent of Luna, except for the little frown marring his features.

‘Hey Harry,’ says Ron. ‘How was it?’

‘Confusing,’ says Harry, sinking into the couch with a sigh. ‘And exhausting.’

Ron smirks. ‘The woes of the chosen one.’

Harry rolls his eyes but grins. Hermione shoves at Ron’s shoulder.

‘I thought you didn’t approve of that title?’ she says.

Ron shrugs. ‘Hey, a title is a title. And anyway, the girls are going nuts over it. You know at least three chicks asked me about you today? Even despite the way you bumbled through the whole day.’

He sniggers, shooting Harry a cheeky grin that Hermione does _not_ find attractive. Hermione pulls her gaze away from him, and the pleasant way it makes his face look, and refocusing on Harry.

‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ she says. ‘With all those girls?’

Ron snorts. ‘What’s so dangerous about a few girls with their eye on Harry?’

Hermione purses her lips. ’Nothing,’ she says. ‘If that’s all they continue to do.’

Ron makes a face. ‘What’s that supposed too mean?’

‘It means that the ends don’t always justify the means,’ she says and sighs, looking at Harry and offering him a small smile. ‘I just want you to be careful, that’s all.’

He returns her smile and nods. ‘Trust me,’ he says. ‘I’m not interested in any of them.’

Ron rolls his eyes again and shakes his head. ‘Bonkers,’ he mutters.

‘So,’ says Hermione, changing the subject. ‘What did you learn from Dumbledore?’

Harry hesitates, chewing on the inside of his mouth and frowning at the floor. His fingers pick at the armchair in a motion that Hermione is sure is subconscious.

‘Just more about Tom’s past. About his parents. His mother kept his father under a love potion,’ he says.

Hermione refrains from pointing out the irony in this given the conversation they’d just had.

‘You don’t…you don’t think that I’m like him, do you?’ Harry asks in a quiet voice.

Ron glances up from his essay, chewing on his quill. ‘Hm? Like who?’ he asks, completely oblivious as usual.

Hermione, however, has a sinking feeling in her gut. She thinks she knows _exactly_ who Harry is talking about.

‘No,’ she says. ‘ _No_ , Harry. Of course not.’

‘But we look alike, and we have similar backgrounds, and we both speak parseltongue.’

Hermione shakes her head. ‘You told us last time that when Dumbledore went to see him, he was already cruel and he liked to hurt people. That he kept trophies. Harry, does that sound like you? You kind and caring and _good_. You’re _nothing_ like Tom Riddle.’

‘Mate,’ says Ron, realisation crashing over him, along with disgust and outrage. ‘You’re mad if you think you’re anything like that psycho.’

Relief washes over Harry. He smiles down at his hands. ‘Thanks, guys,’ he says.

‘Is this why you’ve been acting so strangely?’ Hermione asks.

Harry blinks, tilting his head at her. ‘Strangely?’

Hermione pauses. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Today, you’ve been a bit jumpy.’

‘A bit?’ Ron snorts. ‘You knocked over at least three inkwells. Plus one of mine, I might add.’

Crimson floods Harry’s face. ‘Oh,’ he says, his voice pitching higher. ‘Erm, right. Er. I guess…Dumbledore’s meetings are, they’re um, a lot to think about.’

His eyes are too wide, and his voice—still too high—has that same undercurrent of embarrassment as earlier this morning. Hermione frowns and Harry drops his gaze.

‘Say, uh, what was the assignment for Potions, again?’

Annoyed that he’s once again lying to her, Hermione debates telling him to figure it out himself. Then she sees the nervous way he’s still picking at the armchair, and the confusion warring with the embarrassment on his face and takes pity on him.

She sighs. When he’s ready he’ll tell her what’s on his mind. For now, she’ll just have to settle for helping him with his homework.

 

**_Theo:_ **

The trunk lid was open, it’s contents scattered across the floor as Theo dug through it. A letter from his father lay discarded on the floor, telling him exactly what to look for. He pulls out more books and pristinely folded clothes, throwing them carelessly around him, mindful of the fact that he only has a limited amount of time before his dorm-mates return.

Something crinkles and at last, Theodore sees it. The small, brown paper wrapped parcel. He reaches for it but stops just shy of touching it, remembering his father’s warnings.

Summoning his wand, he levitates the parcel out and then, carefully, with dragon-hide clad hands, he peels back the paper.

There within lay a jewelled silver necklace. It’s large, and yet finely intricate, each opal set within detailed silver bands, all linked together to form something his mother would love to wear. Not that he’d ever want his mother to wear it.

Theodore swallows, dark gaze flickering over to the letter.

_Beware of it’s touch, Theodore, for it has killed many before you._

Carefully, he wraps the necklace back up and, with a quick flick of his wrist, sends all of the items on the floor careening back into their rightful place within the trunk.

Collecting the letter off the floor and the parcel, Theodore kicks open his own trunk and places the items deep within, beings sure to place a powerful locking charm (one far more powerful than the simple spell Draco had used to shield _his_ trunk—especially considering it’s contents) on it.

Then, with a deep breath, he turns and stalks out of the room.


	16. Flirting With Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please read!
> 
> A few of you noted that the last chapter was a little confusing and I just wanted to clarify a few things because I can't be bothered rewriting it.
> 
> The first is that it's not my intention for Hermione to come off as a bitch. She loves Harry and Ron, and cares about them, but she's also naturally curious and so it's in her nature to want to figure things out - like this mystery with why things have changed between Harry and Draco.
> 
> The second is that writing this story from external characters can make it a bit difficult to convey things. For instance, I have to write Harry and Draco's reactions to events without the narrators knowing what they're reacting to, which, of course, can lead to misinterpretations. Thus, Hermione asked Harry if he was acting so strangely because of his meetings with Dumbledore; when in reality the true reason for his embarrassment was working together with Draco post kiss and being unsure of where they stand. Hermione realises that the meetings are not what caused him to be so clumsy, and thus, is frustrated that he's still not being honest with her (like he's not being honest with her about Diagon Alley).
> 
> Which brings me to the last point: Theo taking the cursed necklace, and Diagon Alley. Any and all references to these two events are deliberately vague. Rest assured that I am leading toward revealing what's going on with both these events, but not for some time yet, so please be patient. For the next 12 or so chapters though you can expect things to be much fluffier and Harry/Draco centric.
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking with me so far. Double thanks to those of you leaving reviews; while I'm enjoying writing this immensely, your thoughts and feelings are always welcome and appreciated!

Chapter Sixteen

_Flirting with Danger_

 

**_Ginny:_ **

Harry sighs and fidgets with his shirt for the thousandth time. It’s a nice shirt, green like his eyes. Ginny remembers her mother making him try it, and a slew of others, on when he finally outgrew his second hand clothes from his cousin.

‘I hate parties,’ he mutters.

Ginny shoots him a grin. ‘Gee really? I’d have never guessed,’ she says with a teasing smile. ‘C’mon Harry, lighten up. It’s Halloween.’

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘I just wish they wouldn’t all stare.’

Ginny shrugs. ‘Give it an hour and they’ll realise you’re as dull as the rest of us and get bored.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ he says.

Ginny pokes him in the ribs. ‘Hey, d’you want the attention or not?’

‘Not,’ he says. ‘You know at least four different people I’ve never met before have come spoken to me tonight?’

‘Let me guess, all girls?’

He frowns at her. ‘Yeah, how’d you know?’

Ginny chuckles. ‘Because I saw one flirting with you as I came over.’

Harry blanches. ‘Flirting?’

‘Don’t sound so horrified,’ Ginny laughs. ‘It was bound to happen eventually.’

‘But…why?’

Ginny laughs. ‘What do you mean why?’ she asks. ‘I would’ve thought it was obvious.’

‘No, just, that’s not what I meant,’ says Harry sighing. ‘This whole flirting thing is impossible. I can’t do it. They come and talk to me but what they’re saying isn’t actually what they’re saying, you know? It’s all riddles and games.’

Ginny laughs again and he sighs, running his hand through his hair and mussing it up even more than usual.

‘Well what about with Cho? You flirted with her, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah, badly,’ says Harry, flushing red. ‘You make it look so easy. How did you know, you know, that you wanted to be with Dean?’

Ginny tilts her head and considers the question. Dean himself is over in the corner with Seamus, both of them whispering over some heinous prank no doubt. She smirks and shrugs.

‘I dunno, I guess I knew he was interested and I enjoyed spending time with him. Plus, he’s hot.’

Harry frowns and stares off across the room. ‘See, now that’s the other problem,’ he says, and sighs. ‘Even if I _could_ figure out what the hell they wanted, they’re just not really my type.’

‘Well, who _is_ your type?’ she asks, and nudges him. ‘Or do you already have your eye on someone?’

She’s teasing, but when he blushes, dropping his gaze quickly, her eyes widen.

‘Oh my god, you _do_!’ she says in delight. ‘Who?’

Harry shakes his head. ‘No, no!’ he says hurriedly. ‘I don’t.’

She scoffs. ‘Please, you can’t lie to me, Harry Potter. You fancy someone, you just don’t want to admit it.’

Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s still blushing. ‘Can we not have this conversation please?’

‘You started it,’ she says. ‘What with all your talk of girls.’

It’s his turn to scoff. ‘Yeah, you lot are a whole other species.’

Ginny grins and bumps her shoulder against his.

‘You just need to relax a little, here, I’ll go get you a drink. I’m sure someone’s spiked it by now. Maybe _then_ you’ll tell me who it is,’ she shoots him a wink and wanders off to fetch them drinks, ignoring his protests.

Dean is still off in the corner with Seamus, and Ginny offers him a flash of a smile and a wave as she passes. Dean grins at her, winking, and she winks right back.

When she turns back around, two drinks in hand, she sees that Harry has once again been cornered, this time by a tall, busty brunette Ginny recognises. She sighs and rolls her eyes. Romilda Vane. As vain as her last name implies and as equally vapid. Harry is leaning away from her, looking far more terrified than he has any right to be.

Ginny grabs the two drinks, ready to storm over to Harry’s rescue, only to see Malfoy (of all people) appear at Harry’s elbow. From the furious red flush that blossoms on Romilda’s face, Ginny can only assume that he’s said something appropriately scathing. She smirks, and inches closer to listen in.

‘Surely even _you_ can find someone with more substance to talk to, Potter,’ says Malfoy, turning slightly so he’s in Romilda’s personal spacing—forcing her to take a step backwards.

She glowers at him, her fists clenched at her sides. ‘Did you just call me stupid?’ she snarls.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ says Malfoy. ‘I’d meant to dumb that down enough so that it was clear. Yes, I _did_ just call you stupid.’

Romilda looks expectantly at Harry, who blinks back at her. Clearly frustrated that Harry isn’t jumping to her defence, Romilda turns to Malfoy and snaps,

‘Why don’t you slither on back to your den of snakes, Malfoy,’ she says. ‘No one wants you here!’

‘Oh how very original, you know I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call me a snake before,’ drawls Malfoy, and he turns to Harry, completely ignoring her. ‘About our Muggle Studies assignment. I think I have an idea.’

Harry raises his eyebrows, gaze flicking back and forth between Romilda and Malfoy. ‘You do?’

Romilda huffs, crossing her arms and glaring at the back of Malfoy’s head.

He grins, as if sensing her ire and finding enjoyment out of it (which, he probably does). ‘Yes,’ he says, as if Romilda isn’t even there. ‘It’ll mean having to have a conversation with Zabini, seeing as you managed to get me kicked out of Ancient Runes, but I think it’ll work.’

‘Great,’ says Harry. ‘Let me know if I can help. You know, without breaking anything.’

Romilda finally senses that her scheme to talk to Harry has come to a fruitless end and stomps away, muttering about Slytherins and Malfoy’s. Malfoy watches her go, amusement lighting up his face and making him look far less menacing than usual.

He turns back to Harry, smirking. ‘Still frightened of your fans, I see.’

Harry breaths a sigh of relief. ‘ _Thank_ you,’ he says. ‘And yes. Terrified. Especially of _her_.’

Malfoy’s smirk broadens and he glances over his shoulder at Romilda. ‘Yeah, watch out for that one. She’ll eat you alive,’ he says, and throws Harry an amused, almost predatory glance. ‘And we can’t have that.’

‘Funny, I seem to recall you hoping I’d get eaten by giant spiders two weeks ago,’ says Harry, but he’s smiling.

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms but looking far more relaxed in Malfoy’s presence than he had in Romilda’s. Two months doesn’t seem enough time to have them so at ease with each other, forced co-operation or not, and yet the smile that passes between them is downright _friendly_. Ginny stifles a surprised laugh and makes a mental note to find out who is holding that rumoured bet about Harry and Malfoy being friends. She’s got her eye on a new broom after all, and if what she’s seeing is any indication, than she has this bet in the bag.

‘Well, yes,’ says Malfoy. ‘And I suppose seeing you married off to the likes of some trussed up bimbo _would_ be a little amusing, but it’s a rather dull outcome for the “Chosen One”, wouldn’t you think?’

‘Dull?’ Harry asks. ‘That’s one word for it. And how would you have me come about my end?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

‘Well, yeah, that’s why I asked.’

Malfoy snorts, and shakes his head. ‘Hopeless,’ he says, then he flicks his gaze appeasingly over Harry’s clothes. ‘Nice shirt, by the way. Very…Slytherin.’

‘Glad you approve,’ Harry quips, grinning.

Malfoy leans forward. ‘If you wanted my approval, all you had to do was ask,’ he says, coyly, and then—before Harry can respond, he takes two steps back, smirks, and heads back across to his group of Slytherins across the room.

Ginny can only gape. Harry is still watching Malfoy saunter away. There’s a smile hiding in the corners of his lips, not quite showing, but she sees it. Knows what it means. She dumps the two drinks on a nearby table and stalks over to him.

‘Oh my god,’ she says, and Harry’s green gaze shifts to her face, eyebrows creasing in concern.

‘What?’

She shakes her head at him, glances after Malfoy. ‘Holy mother of Merlin,’ she says.

Harry raises his eyebrows, clearly completely baffled.

She wants to squeal. The realisation is bursting in her chest, aching to get out, and yet she’s acutely aware of the _very_ crowded room. Ginny grabs his arm and yanks him toward the door.

‘Ginny?’ Dean calls as she all but hauls Harry past her boyfriend. ‘Oi, where’re you two going?’

‘Be right back!’ Ginny calls over her shoulder, and sees the baffled looks the two boys exchange, Harry shrugging helplessly at Dean as she pulls him along.

Ginny yanks open the door, glances about the corridor beyond and spies a nearby cupboard. She drags Harry over, shoves him through, and slams it shut behind her—locking it for good measure.

As soon as she turns around to face Harry, she blurts it out. ‘ _Malfoy_? You fancy _Malfoy_?’

It’s almost comical, the way his eyes go wide, the way his expression pales into complete horror as his mouth drops open, speechless and sputtering.

‘What? No! I—No, that’s not, I wasn’t, I _didn’t_ …’

Ginny holds up a hand. ‘Harry, please. I already told you you can’t lie to me. Besides, you know how you said you don’t know how to flirt? Well _that_ , back there? That was flirting! And don’t tell me you weren’t checking him out as he was walking away.’

‘ _Flirting_?’ he asks, his eyes bulging; then, to her amusement, Harry covers his face. ‘Oh my god,’ he says, his words muffled by his hands. ‘This is _not_ happening.’

‘So…what then? You _don’t_ fancy him?’

His hands drop away and he says—in a particularly whiney voice—‘I don’t know!’

‘You don’t know?’

‘No! I mean, I guess? I suppose. I mean I have to, right? After all, normal people don’t just go around flirting and kissing guys they don’t like so…’

‘Wait, hang on, you’ve _kissed_?’ she does _not_ shriek. Much.

Harry looks like he’d rather die than have this conversation right now. Which is too bad for him, because they are _definitely_ having this conversation.

‘Who else knows about this?’

‘No one!’

‘Not even Ron or Hermione?’

‘Are you kidding? _Especially_ not Ron or Hermione. Can you imagine what would happen if they found that I _kissed Draco Malfoy?_ Ron’s head would probably explode. Hell, _mine_ almost exploded and I did it! I even went to Pomfrey!’ He takes a deep breath, lets it out and leans back against the wall, running his hands over his face. ‘Oh this is a disaster.’

Ginny rolls her eyes, but makes no effort to contain the broad grin that’s stretched out across her face. ‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ she says. ‘I won’t tell anyone. If anything…I’m mostly just confused. I didn’t even know you’re gay.’

Harry scoffs. ‘ _You’re_ confused? Try being me.’

This time she does hide her grin. ‘I can’t believe you kissed him. What did he do?’

‘I dunno,’ he says to the floor.

‘What do you mean you don’t know?’

It should be impossible for his face to get any redder, and yet, it does. ‘I, uh, kinda ran away,’ he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘You…oh Harry,’ she says and shakes her head, laughing.

‘It’s not funny! I don’t know what to do. It was an accident.’

‘How do you accidentally kiss someone?’

‘Apparently, very easily!’

‘More importantly, how do you accidentally kiss _Malfoy_? Especially after everything he’s put you through. I mean, you guys blew up a classroom. Not to mention whatever the hell that was on the train.’

‘What? The train? He didn’t do—oh,’ says Harry, straightening up as some of the embarrassment dies away. ‘He didn’t do anything to me on the train, he helped me.’

‘Helped?’

Harry nods. ‘Yeah. I…I freaked out. At Slughorn’s compartment. Then I ran into Malfoy. He was trying to calm me down, so no one would see.’

‘But…’ she pauses, trying to think about what she actually saw. ‘Oh. I thought he was trying to hex you or something.’

Harry shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘And that classroom, that was my fault. I, er, I messed up a spell. Lost control of it. _That’s_ why the classroom blew up. Malfoy didn’t have anything to do with it. Well, no, he _was_ being a prat, but what I mean is I was the one who destroyed the place.’

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘So…things really have changed, then?’

He shrugs again, shoving his hands into his pockets. ‘Yeah. I mean, I guess so? It’s all…weird. It’s been weird for a while. Ever since…’ He trails off, his gaze dropping away, and the green in his eyes darkens as his expression gets far away. Like he’s not really there.

It’s an expression Ginny’s seen before.

‘You mean…at the Alley?’ she asks.

His gaze flickers up to her, but suddenly she can’t read him anymore. ‘Yeah.’

‘Something happened at the Alley with Malfoy?’

He nods again. ‘It was all messed up. And…well the thing is he saved my life. But…but no one can know that. Or at least he doesn’t want anyone to know.’

Ginny’s eyebrows shoot up. She crosses her arms and leans back, considering him.

‘You…you’re not angry or anything, are you?’

She raises one eyebrow. ‘Why would I be angry?’

‘Well, I mean it’s _Malfoy_. Even I’m unsure, and I’m the one who…with the…er, well you know.’

She grins again. ‘Yeah, I know,’ she says. ‘Look, You can’t help the way you feel, Harry. And if you like him and he’s not being a total prat than fine. I say go for it.’

‘You do?’

‘Sure,’ she says, shrugging. ‘I mean, if I think about I guess he hasn’t been as big a pain in the arse as usual. In fact, none of them have been. Who knows, maybe you’re a good influence? Anyway, Luna likes him.’

‘She does?’

Ginny snorts. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I mean, I just chalked it up to Luna being Luna, but she’s got good instincts, I’ll give her that. Though, if he hurts you, I swear to Merlin nothing will protect him from my bat boogey hex.’

Harry laughs. Relief washes over him, and he gives her a grateful smile.

‘Just so you know,’ she says, unlocking the door and stepping out into the hallway. ‘Now that I know, you have to keep me in the loop.’

Harry laughs. ‘Alright,’ he says, and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Actually, it’d be nice to have someone to talk to about it. I feel like I’ve been loosing my mind.’

Ginny grins. ‘I bet you do. Did you really go to Pomfrey?’

The blush swarms back into place and he ducks his head. ‘Er, yeah,’ he says. ‘I thought I’d been hexed or something.’

Ginny tries valiantly not to laugh, truly, but she can’t help it. Giggles erupt and Harry shoves her.

‘Prat,’ he mutters.

‘Dork,’ she retorts.

They head back into the party, and Ginny can’t help but look for the blond haired Slytherin. He’s still with his posse of housemates, but his eyes are on the door when they walk in—as if he was watching for them. The minute he catches sight of her looking, he scowls, his gaze flicking away in disinterest, but not before she sees a flash of something else flicker across his face. A hint of jealousy, perhaps? She grins. Oh, this was going to be fun.


	17. More

Chapter Sixteen

_More_

 

**_Draco:_ **

He wakes gasping, his chest tight. Something is wrapped around him, pinning him down to the bed. His breath shortens, ragged and hoarse, blood pounding in his ears. Oh god. Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. He can’t move. He can’t move and he’s going to die. Flashes of screams and muted explosions echo in his mind and he’s going to die, he just knows he’s going to…

‘Draco? You awake?’

Draco takes a sharp breath and goes still. Blinking, he takes stock of his surroundings. Four poster bed, dark green curtains, a carving of an eagle owl drifting in lazy circles above his head.

His dorm bed. He’s in his fucking dorm bed.

Belatedly he realises he should have answered by now. ‘I am now,’ he growls. ‘What do you want?’

‘Er, nothing,’ comes the voice—Greg, he thinks—from just outside his curtains. ‘Just…sounded like you were having a nightmare.’

‘Well I wasn’t,’ Draco snaps. ‘In fact, I was having a rather good dream, which you so rudely interrupted.’

‘Oh, er, sorry,’ Greg says dumbly. ‘Was just trying to help.’

There’s a vague snort from the other side of the room, and then Theo mutters, ‘I told you not to bother.’

Greg mumbles something in return and someone chuckles. Blaise. Great. So they’re all awake, and they’ve all heard Draco thrashing about like an idiot.

He scowls, and yanks on his sheets. The same sheets that are twisted tight around his middle, pinning him to the bed. He sits up, running a hand through his damp hair. His shirt is soaked through with sweat and his scowl deepens. He casts a quick drying spell, followed swiftly by a cleansing spell, but it’s not enough to get rid of the nightmare still clinging to his skin.

Left over adrenaline surges through his muscles and Draco flops back in the bed, feeling restless, but listening to his dorm mates.

There’s several minutes of shuffling and creaking as they resettle back into their beds. Draco sighs and flicks his wand at the owl above his head, sending it spiralling in alternate directions to keep himself occupied. Unfortunately, watching a wooden toy circle his head isn’t as scintillating entertainment as it sounds and Draco’s thoughts are wandering by the third turn of the little bird.

He keeps his mind firmly away from the nightmare, and with that out of the picture all that’s left to think about is, as is usual, Potter.

Potter, who, as usual, has ruined _everything_. He always does, doesn’t he? From refusing Draco’s hand of friendship (not that Draco dwelt on that fact or anything), to quidditch, to hippogriff attacks, and secret armies and hidden clubs that no Slytherin had been privileged enough to be included in. Potter has, as far as Draco was aware, been hell bent on proving Draco to be some evil doer of some kind.

That is, until he’d had the gall to go and save Draco’s miserable life.

Draco scowls and makes a particularly spiteful jab at the flying owl, sending it careening off into his curtains.

With a sigh he reaches out to pick up the little owl carving and set it carefully on his bedside table. Deciding that he’d rather bear his housemates curious glances than risk sitting alone thinking about Potter and his irritating habit of defying expectations for even a single second longer, Draco swings his legs over the edge of his bed and pulls open the curtains.

For a moment he thinks they’ve all gone back to sleep, and he’s going to successfully sneak out of there without anyone noticing.

Then, just as he’s reached out to pull the dorm door open, Blaise calls out from behind him,

‘Try not to loose us anymore house points, yeah?’

Draco’s hand tightens on the door nob and he has to force himself not to react.

Somewhere to his left, Theo snorts, ‘Since when have you cared about house points?’

He sounds distracted, though, and Draco assumes that he’s reading (probably hasn’t even been to sleep yet, knowing him). Rolling his eyes, Draco ignores them and slips out of the dorm.

The nearest prefects bathroom is only a short walk away, and he slips into the room with barely a sound, his pattering footsteps echoing softly in the quiet of the halls.

The floor is cool against his bare feet, and he hurries to the showers, stripping off his clothes and ducking under the already steaming water with relish.

Warmth radiates along his shoulders, the water pressure working away at the tension in his shoulders and the dried sweat still clinging to his skin.

That is, until the sound of soft bells alerts him to someone walking down the corridor outside. Scowling, Draco flicks off the taps, thankful that he’d at least had the presence of mind to lay a warning charm outside the door, and waits for whatever teacher it is to pass on by.

Only they don’t.

The door creaks open and someone shuffles into the bathroom, making no effort at discretion. Unless he thinks soft humming is subtle.

Draco rolls his eyes, irritation curling around his spine as he tries to remember where the bloody hell he put his towel and whether or not he can summon it without this interloper noticing.

Except, he realises with a scowl, his wand is lying on the bench beneath his clothes and no matter how proficient he’s become at wandless and wordless magic, performing both simultaneously isn’t in Draco skillset.

The humming breaks off and Draco’s stomach flip flops when the interloper starts muttering to himself and he realises just who it is who has stumbled upon him.

‘Whoops, someone’s missing their clothes.’

Draco closes his eyes, trying not to sigh. He’d come here to get _away_ from thoughts of Potter, not get stuck starkers in a shower stall while the blithering idiot talked to himself.

Reminding himself that he’s a _Malfoy_ for fucks sake, and he doesn’t hide from idiot Gryffindor’s (who should know better than to go skulking around the castle in the middle of the damn night) Draco pokes his head out of the shower to see that, yes, it _is_ Potter. Of course it is. When _isn’t_ Potter getting in Draco’s hair these days?

‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’

He tries not to smirk when Potter about jumps out of his skin at the sound of Draco’s voice. Really, he does, but he can’t help it. Somehow getting the drop on Potter never stops being satisfying.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Potter gasps, eyes bulging as he spots Draco. ‘ _Malfoy_? What’re you doing here? Are-are you _naked_?’

‘Why no, Potter. I thought I’d take a shower fully dressed, I hear it’s the in thing at the moment. Of course I’m fucking naked you idiot. Now, kindly stop poking around through my clothes so I can finish my shower.’

‘I—sorry.’ Potter’s voice cracks, pitching unnaturally high, and he let’s go of Draco’s clothes like they’re on fire, dropping them all over the floor.

Draco raises one eyebrow, glaring and Potter—turning a rather amusing shade of bright pink, hastily ducks down to pick them up and place them back on the bench. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes flashing over to Draco and away again, cheeks so red Draco’s surprised they don’t melt right off him.

Draco’s smirk widens. So, Potter is a prude?

Not that there’s anything to be prudish about, Draco is well concealed behind the curtain. He gives Potter one last warning glare and yanks the curtain shut again, restarting the water.

‘Er…you’re just gonna…okay.’ Potter’s voice is squeaky and breathless.

‘Do you plan on lurking out there all night?’ Draco asks, ducking under the hot shower and relishing in the warmth (even if his enjoyment is somewhat marred by the fact that Potter is standing less than ten feet away). ‘Stop standing around like an idiot and pick a shower. It’s not like this is the only one.’

‘Er…right…’

There’s some shuffling, the distinct rustle of clothes dropping to the floor, and light footsteps as Potter heads to one of the stalls at the other end of the bathroom. Draco snorts.

‘Merlin Potter, you act like you’ve never showered around other people before.’

The other shower starts up. ‘Erm. I haven’t.’

Draco sweeps water off his face and stares at the wall between him and Potter. ‘Bullshit,’ says Draco. ‘You’re telling me you’ve gone your whole Hogwarts career without running into someone in the showers?’

‘Um, yeah?’

Draco pauses. ‘What, do you shower at midnight every night or something?’

‘No,’ says Potter. ‘I just wait until everyone else is done.’

‘Every night?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

Silence meets this question, and for a moment Draco thinks Potter’s not going to answer.

‘I guess I just don’t like feeling so exposed,’ Potter mutters, his voice barely audible above the running water.

‘Do you feel exposed now?’ Draco half thinks he means to tease Potter, but instead it comes out curious, with none of the usual sting.

There’s another pause, and Draco has to strain his ears to hear the answer and when he does he’s not quite sure what to do with the it.

‘Yes,’ comes the quiet response, almost blending in with the rushing water.

‘Well,’ he says, opting for casual indifference. ‘Rest assured Potter, you needn’t feel _exposed_ any longer because I’m done.’

He flicks off the water, runs his hands through his hair to rid it of the extra droplets and steps out of the shower, his gaze flickering sideways to be sure Potter is still in his cubicle. Not that he has a problem being “exposed” as Potter put it. In fact, Draco has always been quite comfortable with his body. But the fresh scars on his arms are still red and angry—making an ugly mess of the black blob on his left forearm that used to be a tattoo. Potter’s seen it before, of course, but Draco has no desire to remind him of it.

An odd silence falls over the room as Draco dresses. The rustle of his clothing is oddly loud, even with the other shower still running. Draco can’t help but glance toward the closed curtain where he can just make out Potter’s shadow on the other side.

The water shuts off. Draco pulls on his shirt, turning away so as not to cause Potter any anxiety (although the temptation to stand on the other side of the curtain and tease the Gryffindor is hard to resist).

The curtain slides back as Draco is shrinking his clothes and pocketing them. Potter shuffles over to the benches, a towel wrapped around his waist and head ducked (and here Draco thought Gryffindor’s were supposed to be _brave_ ), leaving puddles of footprints across the floor.

The low light of the bathroom flickers, catching over a trailing scar on Potter’s back as he bends to grab his shirt, and Draco blinks. Flashes of memory try to swarm at the edges of Draco’s mind. Memory and nightmares mixed together.

Potter’s shoulders are tense, as if he can sense Draco’s thoughts. Draco grits his teeth and turns away, reminding himself furiously that he’s _not thinking about that_.

He runs his towel over his hair, trying to scrub away the thoughts. Apparently Potter has the same idea, because Draco can’t see any other logical reason to explain why the bloody hell he’d bring up the very subject they’d been so successfully ignoring.

’So, um, wereyouflirtingwithme?’

Draco peers over the edge of his towel at Potter, raising an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me?’

Somehow the boy has managed to scramble into his clothing in the brief moment Draco had the towel over his face, and he stands facing Draco, clutching his clothes to his chest as he stares at Draco with those infuriatingly expressive eyes that are currently stuck somewhere between stubbornness and mortification.

‘Erm,’ Potter says, his adams apple bobbing, and he runs a hand through his hair (almost dropping a sock into the puddles at his feet). ‘I said, uh, did you, um, did you flirt with-with me. At the Halloween party?’

Draco blinks. Sighs. Glances away and back again. Decides that if they’re going to do this, they might as well do it properly.

‘Of course I was flirting with you,’ he says. ‘You kissed me.’

Red swarms up Potter’s neck, flooding his face to the tips of his ears. ‘Erm,’ he says, and swallows. ‘So…so does that…’

Draco pulls his towel away from his face and smirks at Potter. ‘I was messing with you,’ he says. ‘What, you think this is a thing, do you?’ He gestures between them, his tone clearly indicating that Potter was delusional.

The strange glint of hope in Potter’s eyes shatters, and he drops his gaze to the floor. Draco’s stomach clenches, his throat going dry, but he shakes it off. He’s a _Malfoy_. And Malfoy’s don’t succumb to the puppy dog eyes of Gryffindors. Especially not _this_ Gryffindor.

Draco tilts his head. ‘How about we just make this easy and pretend the other night never happened.’ After all, that’s what he’d _thought_ they were doing.

Potter, still staring at the floor, shrugs. ‘Sure,’ he says, and sighs. ‘Why not.’

Draco frowns. ‘I’m throwing you a life-line here, Potter. Maybe be a bit more grateful?’

‘Grateful?’ Potter’s gaze snaps to his face.

Ah, _there’s_ the familiar Gryffindor fire.

‘Alright, maybe I kissed you,’ Potter says, ‘but _you_ flirted with _me_ all night at the Halloween party. You made me think…’

‘Made you think what?’ asks Draco, though he knows the answer.

Potter scowls. ‘Forget it,’ he snaps. ‘You really are a prick.’

He storms for the door but Draco catches his arm, holding him fast.

‘Wait,’ he says. ‘Are you saying this is something you want?’

The anger in Potter’s eyes shutters and he looks lost. ‘I…I’m not sure,’ he admits and shrugs.

Draco frowns. ‘Helpful,’ he says, and rolls his eyes. ‘What do you expect me to do if even _you_ —Mr-Everybody-Deserves-A-Second-Chance has doubts.’

‘That’s not what I said.’

‘No?’ says Draco, and steps closer, deliberately pushing into Potter’s personal space. ‘So you have some weird, misguided crush on me because I saved your life. So what? You saved my life, I saved yours, we’re square. You don’t need to fawn over me, I’m quite content with how things were.’

Potter frowns. ‘If you were then why did you flirt with me?’

Draco rolls his eyes. ‘Why not? Look, you’re so easy to rile up it almost isn’t any fun. But that’s all it was, okay? And if it wasn’t all it was, what exactly do you expect to happen? We fool around and maybe we have some fun, sure, but what happens when things have to end? What then? Then I get crucified and you go back to hating my guts. Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.’

Potter frowns, stepping away from Draco, but this time his gaze stays on Draco’s face. ‘Who says it’ll have to end.’

Draco snorts. ‘Please,’ he says. ‘If you don’t realise that’s inevitable than you’re even more naive than I thought.’

Potter doesn’t say anything.

Draco sighs and shakes his head. ‘See you in class,’ he mutters, and pushes past Potter. He pauses in the doorway and glances back. ‘Don’t take it personally, Potter. It’s just that you’re you, and I’m me. You’ll see. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and remember all the reasons you despise me.’

Potter’s hair drips into his face and his eyes, so green and bright without his glasses on, are innocently wide, fixated on Draco. ‘Maybe,’ he says, his voice soft. ‘But I don’t think those reasons matter anymore.’

‘Because I saved your life?’ Draco asks, he means it to sound mocking, but his voice has lost it’s edge.

Potter shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Because you’re…more.’

Draco frowns. Something squirms in his gut and his heart starts to thump painfully in his chest. He turns away, not wanting Potter to see him so unnerved, and leaves Potter and his stupid knowing gaze behind in the bathroom. Still, he can’t escape it. Potter’s wordsfollow him out into the corridor, back to his dorms and into his dreams, plaguing him worse than any nightmare.

 _‘Because you’re more_.’

And when he gets up the next morning, having barely slept a wink, Draco realises just how royally screwed he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...we all knew Draco was going to be stubborn about this, right?  
> Hope you enjoyed finally getting an insight into our Slytherin Prince - though, I'm not totally satisfied with the way it came out, hope you guys enjoyed it anyways.
> 
> Also, please note that I'll be dropping down to once weekly updates as of Monday for the duration of April - just until camp NaNoWriMo is done - then I'll pick back up to twice a week come May.


	18. On the Wings of Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Luna is helpful and Hagrid has an idea.

Chapter Eighteen

_On the Wings of Horses_

 

**_Hagrid:_ **

Two thestrals stand at the edge of the clearing, tearing into a hunk of meat. The flock is growing and Hagrid is proud to show them off to the students, but he’s missing the usual glow of warmth that comes with showing off these misunderstood creatures to his students.

Oh, he’s used to the disgusted and disturbed looks that come from watching the thestrals eat. Many of his students aren’t able to see the invisible creatures. The hunks of meat being pulled off and eaten, disappearin’ as the Thestrals ate, was a bit offputtin’ to some of his students. Still, this is normal.

He heaves a long sigh, and doesn’t even bother to try and encourage the students to get closer. His mind is on his next class. His two reluctant sixth years.

Two months. Two months to get over the disappointment that _none_ of the sixths years chose to take his class this year.

Of course, it weren’t the first time that were the case. Not a single sixth or seventh year class has come through since Hagrid began teaching. Still, he had thought this year would be different.

After all, this year _Harry_ is a sixth year. And yes, _now_ Harry is in his class, and yet Harry didn’t _choose_ to take Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid knows that Harry didn’t mean to offend him. He knows that Harry wants to become an Auror, and that perhaps Magical Creatures don’t rank high on the comings and goings of Aurors. Yet, he can’t stop the disappointment from creeping into his thoughts.

‘The foals are starting to look quite lively now, aren’t they?’

The voice comes from somewhere ‘round his elbow, and Hagrid has to shuffle back a pace to see the wee little thing standing at his side. He beams when he sees those familiar blue eyes gazing up at him.

‘That they are,’ he says. ‘Yer no’ goin’ fer a closer look today Luna?’

‘Oh, I will,’ she says, looking up at him. ‘I didn’t want to crowd them.’

Hagrid glances back at the other students, still hanging back from the disappearing meat, and chuckles. ‘No fear o’ that I think.’

‘Oh I don’t know, there’s more interest this week I think.’

‘Yer think?’

‘Oh yes,’ says Luna, peering up at him. ‘After all, there are far less wrackspurts hanging around lately. I think people are starting to see things much clearer now.’

Hagrid frowns and scratches at his beard. ‘Wrackspurts? Don’ know that I’ve ever had an infestation o’ them out here.’

Granted, he’s never _heard_ of them before, either. But Luna is a sweet girl. She reminds Hagrid of many of the lost and wandering creatures he’s found under his care. Like baby Norbert or Fang or Fluffy. Lost, misunderstood creatures in need of care.

‘Oh, they’ve been everywhere in the castle,’ she says. ‘But I wouldn’t worry. They’re definitely on the move now.’

‘Ah, I see,’ says Hagrid, though he really doesn’t. ‘Good ter know.’

‘Do you think the heard will migrate this year?’

Hagrid rubs at his beard again. ‘Mebbe, hard teh say though, they been ‘ere so long now. They’re not used teh flyin’ out fer the season.’

Luna nods. ‘Pity,’ she says. ‘They did so enjoy our long flight last year. They were ever so helpful.’

Hagrid gives her a hearty smile. ‘O’ course they did. Natural fliers they are. S’pose they _should_ be migratin’. I’ll have ter look into it.’

‘Maybe Draco can offer some insights?’

‘Malfoy?’

‘Yes. His family sometimes breeds winged horses. He has two, I think. What were they? Abraxan?’

‘Abraxan are powerful horses,’ says Hagrid, impressed that the young Mr Malfoy could manage such horses.

Especially after that great mess with Buckbeak.

‘Quite beautiful, if Draco has anything to say about it,’ she says.

'You, er, talked to him abou' it then?'

'Oh yes,' says Luna. 'Draco is quite knowledgable about many magical creatures. He likes to pretend that it's because he's good at potions, though I know the truth.'

'Yer do?'

She leans in, smiling. 'He's curious,' she says. ' _Very_ curious. I think he and Harry have that in common, though you shouldn't tell either of _them_ that. Trust me, I've tried. They are so stubborn, another quality they share. Anyway, he likes to tease Harry about not knowing as much'

Hagrid frowns. 'Harry's always gotten good marks in my class,' he says. 'Better than Malfoy, anyway.'

'Well yes. But then Harry’s never been to a magical Zoo before,’ says Luna. ‘He was raised by muggles after all. Draco’s teased him relentlessly about it, I'm afraid. He is right, though, it really is a pity. I still remember going with my mother. It was always my favourite holiday, we would go and--oh dear, is class over already?’

Luna peered about her, blinking as she watched her classmates all scuttle off toward the castle. Hagrid, too, looked about him.

‘Oh,’ he says, calling out to the class as he remembers that he’s supposed to assign homework. ‘Er, I expect an essay from each of you on how Thestrals are misunderstood by next lesson.’

A few grumbles echo out, but for the moment there’s not much resistance. One student even calls out, ‘how long?’

‘Oh, er, 6 inches should do it, eh?’

Two voices break through the mutterings, loud and arguing.

‘—danger to society no matter what you say.’

‘Oh please, like Professor Lupin wasn’t the _best_ Defence teacher we’ve ever had and _he_ was a Werewolf. You can’t just lump them all under the same banner.’

‘ _Best_? Merlin Potter we really need to redefine your notion of higher education if you think _Lupin_ is our best defence teacher.’

‘Oh? And I suppose you think _Lockhart_  did a good job? Or stuttering Quirrel who we could barely understand? Or maybe you preferred Umbridge, I mean, you _did_ get rather cosy with her.’

‘It might surprise you to know, Scarhead, but you weren’t the only one that disliked that frilly, scrumpy, pink-pampered, stupid toad of a—‘

‘Hello Draco,’ says Luna, stepping out in front of the boy.

Malfoy jumps and swears. Disapproval swarms in Hagrid’s gut like angry bees, but before he can step in, Malfoy surprises him by actually smiling.

‘Lovegood,’ he says, and flicks a smug look across at Harry. ‘Kindly remind Potter who is the superior student here?’

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘You know what, forget it,’ he snaps. ‘Sorry Luna,’ he adds, before stomping passed them toward the Thestrals.

Hagrid watches Malfoy and Luna a moment longer before turning his attention to Harry. Somethings eaten away at him, Hagrid knows.

A few of the Thestral foals canter over (drawn to Harry’s easy nature, Hagrid is sure) and nudge at Harry’s hands. Harry pats them absentmindedly and Hagrid marvels at how easily the boy is accepted into their fold. He recalls how quickly harry had earned Buckbeaks trust and thinks it really is a pity that they don’t have more winged horses on the grounds.

Perhaps he should speak to Professor Dumbledore about getting some foals?

'Goodbye Hagrid,' calls Luna, waving as she sets off to follow her fellow year mates back up to the castle. 'Thank you for interesting conversation.'

Hagrid smiles and waves after her but has to pause mid-wave as he's hit with a sudden idea.

He turns, looking back at Harry and Malfoy, one patting invisible winged horses and the other watching with far less hostility than Hagrid has come to expect.

A lot has changed this year, he knows. He's seen it. Harry and Malfoy don't act like the squabbling pups of crups anymore, but rather regard each other with wary watchfulness. Malfoy himself, even, has been less troublesome than usual, though neither have seemed to give Hagrid the full enthusiasm he had hoped for.

Perhaps that would change, however, if he gave them something to look forward to? Something one of them, at least, has never done before.

Hagrid smiles, claps his hands together, and says. 'Alrigh' then, I have a treat for yeh.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy day tomorrow so this is the posting for the first week of April. Sorry it doesn't give us much Harry/Draco time, but rest assured in about three chapters time there's gonna be a nice long chapter filled with much awkward fluffiness.


	19. Did You Say Mum?

Chapter Ninteen

_Did You Say Mum?_

 

**_McGonagall:_ **

Potter trails behind her with that beseeching look on his face that is both pleading and stubborn. The pleading expression is all James Potter, from the messy hair right down to the little quirk of his lips, but the stubbornness shinning out of those green eyes is all Lily Evans.

Anyone who thought Harry took after his father was a fool. Oh Albus, Sirius, and Remus—and indeed anyone who _knew_ James Potter, took one look at his son and called them the same; but Minerva knew better.

She saw the way his jaw clenched when he was frustrated; or the way he chewed on the inside of his mouth when he was confused about classwork or puzzling out some problem or another. She saw the quizzical lift of his brow when he was being sardonic, heard the sharp wryness of his words when he was being sarcastic or impertinent, and the cheekiness that shone from his gaze when he watched his two friends bicker—no doubt thinking of all the ways to tease them, but not going through with it as his father would have done.

No, Minerva did not see James Potter when she looked at Harry. She saw his mother, Lily Evans.

Lily Evans who stared out from the depths of his eyes at her, stubborn and wilful and headstrong, with a heart bigger than any other.

‘Please?’ he said, jogging to keep pace with her brisk walk as she stalked away from her offices.

He’s incessant begging had distracted her and now, for the first time in over thirty years, she was late. She abhorred being late.

With a weary sigh, she attempted to ignore him.

‘ _Please_?’ he said again, just behind her shoulder ‘Please sign the form.’

She turned the corner, quickening her stride. ‘I’ve already told you, no.’

‘But—’

‘Potter,’ she snaps, turning to face him in a swift movement. ‘The headmaster has already given you his answer. As have I.’

‘Yeah, but—’

‘Now, we are late,’ she says sharply, cutting him off again. ‘I suggest you go inside and take your seat.’

She yanks open the door she knows he hasn’t realised they’re standing outside of and strides through. Potter follows, though he doesn’t go to his seat like she’d told him to. She sighs, and tries to resist the temptation to rub her temples.

Several students look up from their none-too-quiet conversations to stare, surprise and curiosity on their faces—and it’s plane as day _why_ they’re curious. She’s not the only one who realises that she’s never been late to class before. She crosses to her desk, ignoring Potter as he trails her, and flicks her wand at the board. Instructions for the lesson weave themselves across the surface, but Potter is still stubbornly at her back.

She turns. ‘Take out your books and continue where we left off,’ she says. ‘Mr Potter—’

‘I’ll do all my homework before we go,’ he says quickly, cutting her off. ‘For all my classes. Even the stuff that’s not due yet. And I’ll pull extra detention. And clean the Infirmary. _And_ help Slughorn rearrange the potions rooms. And…and…’ he’s grasping at straws. ‘Just _please_ can’t I go?’

‘For Merlin’s sake Potter, I’ve _already_ told you it’s not up to me,’ she sighs, now fully exasperated with his refusal to give up the point.

‘Okay but you can at least _talk_ to him, right? I mean, he’ll listen to you.’

‘And what do you expect me to tell him, Potter? Out of school excursions require signing off by guardians, I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.’

‘But you _know_ my Aunt and Uncle won’t sign it, even _if_ they got the letter on time, which they won’t.So why can’t _you_ just sign it?’

‘I don’t have the authority.’

‘You’re my head of house!’

‘Yes, but as I’ve explained _several times now_ , I’m _not_ your guardian—‘

‘You might as well be!’ Potter exclaims, cutting her off in sudden burst and his expression is so frustrated and imploring and stubborn, so _Lily_ that Minerva is momentarily stunned. ‘You look after me better than my own relatives do and anyway, you and Pomfrey are basically like my parents at this point, so I don’t see _why_ there’s such a big issue! Can’t you just _tell him_ to let me go? ‘

‘Potter,’ she says and then doesn’t know what to follow with.

She’s…stunned, actually. Does he realise what he’s implied? She knows, of course, that the rest of the class has. Several students are muttering, exchanging amused and speculative whispers that aren’t quite as quiet as they think they are.

‘Get to work,’ she barks at them, voice cracking like a whip as she flicks a practiced reprimanding glare around the room.

Potter blinks and glances over his shoulder, only just seeming to realise where they are. Several students scramble for their books, though they all keep one eye on the two of them at the front of the room. She ignores them and raises an eyebrow at Potter, motioning toward his empty seat. He doesn’t move. His jaw has that familiar set to it and Minerva feels a headache coming on. She close her eyes and sink into her chair. Instead, she takes a deep breathe and tries a different tact.

‘It’s not just your lack of guardian approval,’ she says to Potter. ‘There are a dozen other perfectly good reasons that you shouldn’t go.’

He scoffs. ‘Please. If you mean my _issues_ , Pomfrey’s already given me her approval. I’ll have an extra potion in the morning and I’ll be right for the day. It’s all sorted.’

He says this in a smug tone, clearly thinking he’s brushed aside her concerns and Minerva makes a mental note to remind Poppy to run any of Potter’s foolish plans by her _before_ she approves them.

‘You know that isn’t the _only_ issue,’ she sighs. ‘Though I’d certainly like to know how you managed to wheedle approval for this little excursion out of Poppy. I highly doubt she’d approve.’

‘Actually she said it’d be good for me,’ he says and she half thinks he’s going to poke his tongue out at her.

Minerva sighs again and rubs a hand over her temple—which is starting to pulse.

‘Come on, _please_? If anyone can change his mind, it’s you. Tell him what Pomfrey said, that it’ll be good for me. Tell him…tell him he can sick whatever bodyguard he wants on us!’

‘I thought you said it was creepy to have a sixteen year old followed?’ she asks dryly.

Potter groans and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Well it is! But I won’t complain if that’s what it takes! _Please_? It’s one day. Just _one day_ for me to be a normal teenager and I swear I won’t ask for anything else but please, _please_ let me go.’

He stares at her with his mother’s eyes, his mother’s face, imploring and hopeful and oh so young and she feels her resolve weakening. He sees it. She sees him see it.

‘Potter,’ she says again, and stops, because how can she tell him that he isn’t allowed to be a normal teenager.

‘You _know_ it’s what Padfoot would have wanted,’ he says and though she hears the slyness to his tone, understands it for the underhanded blow that it is, it _works_.

She clenches her jaw, sighs, and finally relents. ‘I suppose I could talk to the headmaster,’ she says reluctantly. His face lights up, but she cuts him off sharply before he can say anything more. ‘But _no_ promises! And you’ll sit down this instant and not say _another word_.’

Potter nods emphatically, green eyes bright and wide with barely contained excitement. He beams at her with his mother’s smile and bounds over to his seat, practically glowing with barely restrained happiness. He slips into his seat next to a bemused Draco Malfoy and yanks out his book, completely missing the stares he’s receiving from his classmates.

Without missing a beat, Malfoy leans over and says in a mildly amused tone that the whole room can hear, ‘You realise you basically just called McGonagall your mother?’

Minerva freezes for a moment as all eyes fix on Potter. By the time they swivel to her, however, she’s composed herself by pulling a stack of paper’s toward her to grade. That doesn’t stop her from hearing Potter’s response though.

‘I don’t even care,’ Potter says with a grin that could split his face in two. ‘We’re going to the _zoo!_ ’

Malfoy snorts. ‘Idiot.’

There’s no malice in his voice, and Minerva glances up to observe them for a moment. Potter is still grinning, flicking through his book, eyes glazed and unseeing in his happiness; and Malfoy is watching him, a small smile playing across his mouth. Minerva raises an eyebrow. Perhaps having them spend more time together wouldn’t be a bad thing after all.

***

Pomona finishes her report, Minerva jotting down the few requests she’d made for plant materials, and Albus

Albus leans back in his seat, smiling a genial smile as he was wont to do. ‘I believe that concludes the staff meeting?’ he says, popping yet another of those ridiculous candies into his mouth.

Minerva restrains herself from rolling her eyes and sits up a little straighter. ‘Actually,’ she says, ignoring the sigh from Severus (who was readying himself to make his escape no doubt). ‘I’d like to discuss the matter of the Zoo Excursion.’

There are several looks of confusion around the table, but Hagrid (who had just about been asleep) sits up straighter all of a sudden.

Albus feigns puzzlement, his expression only a _little_ forced. ‘I thought we already had?’ he says. ‘After all, Harry needs his guardians to sign—’

‘Yes,’ says Minerva, cutting him off. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I was wondering, have you contacted Petunia and Vernon about Harry’s extracurricular classes?’

There are a few more curious looks from around the room, but Minerva ignores them in favour of staring hard at Albus. She’s watching his face, waiting to catch the slightest move in his expression.

‘Of course,’ he says.

She purses her lips, and she knows he sees that she knows he’s lying. ‘What about his class schedule? You told me not to bother alerting them, but I contacted the Malfoy’s and got _their_ approval. Did I not need Potter’s?’

‘Well, something so minor—’

‘As minor as rearranging his entire class schedule for his second last year of schooling?’

‘Well, it’s not like the changes disrupt him _too_ much—‘

‘Sixth years need parental permission to do Care of Magical Creatures due to the high contact with dangerous magical creatures,’ Minerva says tartly. ‘Do we not need their permission for _that_?’

Albus stays silent for a moment. ‘You seem to have a point, Minerva?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I do. You seem perfectly happy to choose and pick which details of Potter’s schooling Potter’s relatives need to know about. Not that I blame you, mind. They’re the most _deplorable_ sort of muggles. I just wonder why you’re pushing the point on _this_ detail.’

‘The Zoo can be a dangerous place.’

Severus snorts. ‘And Hogwarts can’t be?’

There’s a few titters around the table.

‘We _have_ had an unusual amount of trouble of late,’ says Flitwick. ‘Only to be expected in these hard times. Though mixing young people with highly concentrated magic has always resulted in the odd disaster here and there.’

‘It won’ be no trouble, Headmaster,’ says Hagrid, dark eyes hopeful. ‘I’ve been givin’ it a lot of though’ see? Got it all planned out, so as not to bring any unwanted attention to ‘em. Harry’ll wear a disguise, and Malfoy can colour his hair for the day, an’ we’ll say we’re from one of them smaller schools. Tha’ way there’ll be no trouble.’

‘There you have it,’ says Minerva, pleasantly surprised by Hagrid’s plan.

She’ll admit, she hadn’t really been paying attention the first time it was brought up, knowing that Albus would say no, but Hagrid really had put some thought into how to go about it. Not just for Harry, too, but for Malfoy. She was impressed.

Albus, though, was not.

‘Last we spoke you agreed with me,’ he says, eyeing Minerva.

‘I’ve reconsidered,’ she says primly.

Severus rolls his eyes. ‘You mean Potter came begging and you caved, as usual.’

‘I did no such thing!’

‘Really? Because it’s all my Slytherin’s can seem to talk about this afternoon,’ he says.

Minerva has a strong urge to send a stinging hex his way.

‘I think the excursion will do them some good,’ says Poppy. ‘Potter could certainly use a break from the stress.’

Once again, Severus is all derision. ‘Oh please.’

‘If you recall,’ Minerva snaps. ‘Potter’s been attacked several times of late. Not to mention the fact that his _godfather_ died just a few months ago.’

Severus has the decency to look ashamed. ‘Yes, well, he’s not the only one suffering from this war. There are plenty of other students who have lost family. Are you going to send each of _them_ off to the Zoo.’

‘That depends,’ says Minerva. ‘Are any of them taking Sixth Year Care of Magical Creatures?’

Severus rolls his eyes but disdains to answer.

‘Rest assured, Severus,’ says Poppy, shooting him a sharp look. ‘I’ve been monitoring _all_ students with direct ties to the war very closely this year and conferring with their heads of house. Perhaps you haven’t realised as _your_ students haven’t been quite as affected. Excepting Mr Malfoy, of course.’

Severus startles at this. At first his eyes flash angry and dark when Poppy points ou the fact about his students being less afflicted, but when she excludes Malfoy confusion—followed quickly by worry that he can’t quite squash—replaces the anger.

Minerva raises her eyebrows. She hadn’t heard of anything going on with Malfoy, but then apparently neither has Severus.

Poppy turns to Albus. ‘An excursion will do them _both_ some good. I think it’s a great idea. They can get out of school for a day.’

‘Be normal teenagers,’ agrees Minerva. ‘That’s what Potter said,’ and here she shoots Albus a significant look. ‘That it’ll be one of his last chances to be a normal teenager.’

Guilt flashes across Albus’s face and she knows she has him. Even Severus looks mildly uncomfortable.

‘Perhaps if someone can go along with them?’ suggests Poppy, seeing Albus’s obvious reluctance to agree. ‘Will that ease your mind?’

Albus doesn’t look appeased, but seems to realise he’s loosing the battle. Minerva has learnt to read the subtleties of his expressions, to note when the benevolence is an act and when he truly knows something others do not. In this instance, Minerva is almost sure that there’s something bothering him he doesn’t want them to know about. She frowns.

Unfortunately, Severus distracts her. ‘Surely even _Hagrid_ can manage two students on his own?’ sneers Severus.

Minerva purses her lips. Across from her, Poppy is looking suddenly dubious.

‘It _is_ Potter and Malfoy,’ says Pomona cautiously. ‘I know they’ve been getting on _lately_ , and they’ve never caused problems in my class of course, but they _do_ have a history.’

‘If the right person _agreed_ ,’ Albus says, still with that tiny frown he’s trying to hide. He glances hopefully at Severus, but Minerva jumps in before he can ask.

‘No,’ she says. ‘It cannot be Severus or me. Picking one head of house over the other will just make the other boy feel outnumbered; and besides, most of us teachers are too busy to go chaperoning an excursion like this for a full day. Not with NEWTS coming up.’

Hagrid deflates. ’So’s I guess it’s off then?’

‘Of course not,’ says Minerva briskly. ‘I said none of _us_ can do it, but we are not the only options.’

Hagrid frowns in puzzlement. ‘Ain’t we?’

‘Of course not,’ says Minerva. ‘The only question is _who_. Who is capable of dealing with the complexities of Malfoy and Potter’s past?’

Severus snorts and rolls his eyes, exasperated by the entire notion of sending someone to (no doubt in his mind) pander to two teenage boys. Minerva ignores him.

‘What about Remus?’ Pomona suggests, brightening. ‘He had such a way with Harry that year he taught here, didn’t he?’

‘We want someone that will work with _both_ of them,’ says Severus with a scowl. ‘Not someone who will allow Potter to run amok in an unguarded situation.’

‘Well then there’s always Alastair,’ Minerva says dryly.

‘Busy with the Auror’s, I’m afraid,’ says Albus, obviously pleased that another option is out the window.

‘It can’t be Molly or Arthur,’ murmurs Poppy, eyes distant as she thinks. ‘Not with Draco going. Perhaps old Kettleburn? Though he _is_ retired.’

‘I suppose I could shuffle my classes around for a _day_ ,’ Charity says, flicking through her schedule. ‘If I could shift the second years, and the afternoon class for the sixth years…’

‘While I appreciate the thought, Charity,’ says Minerva with a small frown, frustrated at their lack of options. ‘I do agree that we shouldn’t make too much of a fuss about it. There’s no sense in us all rearranging our schedules to make it work.’

‘Well thank Merlin for that,’ says Severus sarcastically.

Minerva shoots him a glare.

‘I don’t mind,’ Charity insists. ‘I don’t want them to miss out, after all. It’s a great opportunity. And, and I agree. From what I’ve seen they both seem to be improving. Albiet slowly, and sometimes you have to trick them into it, but they _are_ getting on. It’d be nice to reward them for it.’

‘Reward them for doing what they should have been doing all along?’ asks Severus as if they’ve all lost their minds.

‘Now, now, Severus,’ says Albus. ‘You of all people should know how hard it can be to break out of old rivalries. What they’ve achieved this year is admirable, and I’ll admit they should be rewarded, but perhaps we should think of an alternative to the Zoo—‘

’Nymphadora Tonks,’ says Minerva, cutting off Albus with the first name she can think of before he dismisses the idea entirely.

‘Nymphadora Tonks?’ asks Severus in disbelief. ‘You want to send two of the most volatile students we have, into a volatile, _magical_ zoo with the clumsiest Auror known to Wizarding History? Why don’t you just ask the Weasley twins and be done with it?’

‘Because they’re busy running a shop,’ Minerva retorts sharply. ‘Nymphadora is more capable than you give her credit for. She has the perfect disposition to deal with any tension between them; not to mention the fact that she and Malfoy are cousins. Yes, I think Nymphadora will do nicely. What do you think?’

Albus looks trapped and Minerva’s smile widens, like she’s just eaten a full packet of Canary Creams. He tries not to sigh, but Minerva sees his shoulders sag just a little.

‘Yes,’ he says (with only a _hint_ of resignation). ‘Nymphadora Tonks is a _very_ good choice.’

He says it in such a way that Minerva is positive he’d already thought of her, and was hoping none of them would. She resists the urge to hex him, and instead focuses on the fact that she’s been victorious. She exchanges a smile with Poppy and Charity, and enjoys the creeping satisfaction that comes from seeing Severus so put out.

‘Excellent,’ says Minerva. ‘I’ll let Potter know he can go then.’

‘So long as they don’t cause any trouble before then, of course,’ Albus adds.

Minerva raises an eyebrow. She suspects he’s rather hoping they do.

‘Well, that shouldn’t be too hard,’ says Poppy. ‘After all, how much trouble can they get into in two days?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it would, and I apologise because there's barely any fluffiness going on. Just for being so patient with me, here's a quick sneak peak at the next chapter (and no, sorry, it's not the Zoo chapter just yet - though I can't WAIT to share that with you):
> 
> Chapter 20 Sneak Peak:
> 
> Confidant - Ginny:
> 
> Hermione purses her lips. ‘Harry…’ she sighs. ‘What about the Zoo tomorrow? You know that was conditional on you and Malfoy getting along.’  
> ‘We are! Sort of. Look we didn’t start the fight it just…happened,’ he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his hand brushes passed a cut above his eye. ‘Can we do this later? I just…I really need to talk to Ginny right now.’  
> There’s an odd flush to his skin beneath the bruising on his face, and Harry’s desperation is growing. He looks at Ginny, gaze imploring and understanding washes over her.  
> She pushes up off Dean’s lap. ‘Again?’ she asks, just to be sure, and tries to squash the delight surging up her spine as she realises what’s happened.  
> ‘Yes,’ he says pointedly. ‘Now can we talk? Somewhere else?’


	20. Confidant

Chapter Twenty-One

_Confidant_

 

**_Ginny:_ **

‘You’re brother is staring,’ Dean mutters, pulling away from her lips just long enough to get the words out.

‘Ignore him,’ say Ginny, leaning back in to press her lips firmly back against his. ‘It’s what I do.’

Dean smirks. ‘Yeah, but,’ he says between kisses. ‘I feel like he might murder me in my sleep.’

She pulls back and shoots him a wide grin. ‘Well,’ she says. ‘We better get in as much snogging as we can, then?’

He laughs and she bridges the gap between them. In the background she can hear some sort of commotion, and assumes that one of the younger years has set of another explosion. Or Seamus, she supposes.

‘Oi,’ Ron calls out. ‘What happened to you?’

For a moment Ginny thinks he’s calling out to _her_ , and she’s getting ready to flick a Bat Boogey hex his way to remind him to mind his own damn business, when she hears Harry’s low voice mumble something in response.

Not a moment later a shadow falls over her and Dean.

‘Ginny?’ says Harry, ‘Can I talk to you?’

‘Right now?’ she asks, before glancing up at him and gaping. ‘Jesus, what happened to your face?’

He’s completely disheveled. His shirt is loose, the top two buttons torn away, and a smear of blood on the collar above his askew tie; which is nothing to the fresh black eye and swelling bruise on his jaw.

‘What?’ Harry asks, and then shakes his head as he realises the state he’s in (the fact that he didn’t even notice speaks _volumes_ ). ‘Oh, that. Never mind.' He runs a hand distractedly through his already messy hair. 'Look, can we talk? Please?’

He says it urgently and Ginny’s curiosity and worry intermingle into something heavy and unpleasant in her stomach. Suddenly she’s not much in the mood for kissing.

‘What’s wrong?’ Hermione asks from where she and Ron are hovering over his shoulder, (not that Ginny blames them when he’s come in looking as he is). ‘Who did you fight with?’

Harry shifts his weight and glances at Hermione. Impatience flashes in his eyes, and something else. Something rather like desperation. A desperation Ginny recognises.

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Just…got in a fight.’

‘Yeah, we see that,’ says Ron. ‘With who? Wasn’t Malfoy was it? Hope you gave the git as good as you got.’

Harry winces and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Er, yeah. Malfoy,’ he says, and makes a face at Ginny. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Wait, you fought with _Malfoy_? I thought you were done with this? What happened?’

Harry taps his foot nervously and avoids looking at her. ‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘I just…it’s like Ron said. Malfoy and I got into a fight. It’s nothing.’

Ginny frowns, confused at the different signals he’s sending. On the one hand he’s just been in a fight with Malfoy, on the other, he’s looking at her the same way he had when she found he’d kissed Malfoy.

Ginny straightens. No, he _hadn’t_ said he’d fought Malfoy, he said he and Malfoy got into a fight.

Hermione purses her lips. ‘Harry…’ she sighs. ‘What about the Zoo tomorrow? You know that was conditional on you and Malfoy getting along.’

‘We are! Sort of. Look we didn’t start the fight it just…happened,’ he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his hand brushes passed a cut above his eye. ‘Can we do this later? I just…I really need to talk to Ginny right now.’

There’s an odd flush to his skin beneath the bruising on his face, and Harry’s desperation is growing. He looks at Ginny, gaze imploring and understanding washes over her.

She pushes up off Dean’s lap. ‘ _Again?_ ’ she asks, just to be sure, and tries to squash the delight surging up her spine as she realises what’s happened.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ he says pointedly. ‘Now can we talk? _Somewhere else_?’

If Ginny was a girl like Lavender Brown she might squeal in delight. Hell, she might anyway, but Hermione is watching with that keen, narrowed gaze, so Ginny schools her expression and nods.

‘Why d’you wanna talk to her?’ asks Ron, nonplussed, as if he can’t understand why Harry might want to talk about anything other than Harry’s supposed fight with Malfoy.

Instead of answering, Harry grabs Ginny’s arm and all but drags her to the staircase.

‘Oi!’ Dean objects. ‘That’s my girlfriend, Potter!’

‘I’ll give her back in a minute!’ Harry snaps over his shoulder, the tension rolling off him in waves.

He pulls Ginny up the staircase and shoves into the boys dorm. Neville—sitting on the floor with a few odd looking plants Ginny hasn’t seen before—startles.

‘Neville,’ says Harry, eyes wide. ‘Erm, mind if I use the dorm for a bit? I need to talk to Gin. Alone.’

Neville blinks. ‘Er, sure.’

Ginny throws him an apologetic look as he gathers up his things and packs them carefully into his trunk. She notices that it’s been expanded on the inside, and that the plants he’s placing neatly back into place aren’t the only ones in there.

‘Thanks,’ she says, realising that Harry isn’t going to, and makes a note to talk to him about _manners_.

Honestly, just because—

‘He kissed me,’ Harry blurts the minute the door is closed, clearly unable to hold it in any longer.

Ginny stares at him. Inside she’s dancing, but for now, there’s a wild, freaked out storm of emotions playing out across Harry’s face, so she takes a deep breath, sits him down on the edge of his bed and stands calmly before him.

‘He kissed you?’ she asks. ‘Malfoy?’

He gives her a look and she shrugs, holding her hands up in self defence.

‘Just wanted to be sure,’ she says, then ventures. ‘So, are you together then?’

Harry swallows. ‘I…no. I don’t know!’ he scrubs a hand through his hair and drops his head. ‘I’m so confused.’

Ginny sits down next to him. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’

‘I…we…I just went for a walk. I couldn’t sleep, see. So I went for a walk. Like I always do. And then he was there, and they were chasing him. Beating him up!’ his fists clench. ‘Fucking assholes,’ Harry says. ‘It was four on one! How is _that_ fair? Anyway, I joined in and we scared them off pretty quick.’

It all starts to make sense. Harry hadn’t been in a fight _against_ Malfoy, he’d been a fight _with_ him against someone else. Several someones, apparently.

‘I’m guessing that’s when he kissed you?’ Ginny asks when Harry doesn’t continue.

He nods, glancing sideways at her. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair again.

‘I guess we were kinda flirting? Maybe? But then he, he kissed me and I don’t know _why_? I mean he’s the one who said that this wouldn’t work!’

‘Wait, back up,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘When did he say this?’

Harry grimaces. ‘Few days ago,’ he mumbles. ‘I ran into him…well it doesn’t matter where. But he pretty much told me it wasn’t going to happen. That we should just pretend I hadn’t kissed him.’

He sounds so bitter, so confused and upset that Ginny just wants to hug him, but she knows he’d just pull away if she tried and she doesn’t want to upset him any further.

‘But now he’s kissed you,’ she says, summarising. ‘And you’re understandably confused. Did he say anything?’

‘No,’ he says miserably. ‘I tried to ask him, but he just told me to shut up. Then he kissed me again.’

He blushes, and Ginny can see the faint hint of pleasure lurking beneath the confusion.

‘You liked it,’ she says, and nudges him.

The flush of red deepens, and he ducks his head. Grinning, she pokes him in the ribs.

‘You liiiiiiked it,’ she says, dragging out the words and laughing when he tries to pull away from her poking fingers.

‘Stop it,’ he says, but he’s smiling an embarrassed little smile.

‘Alright,’ she relents, holding up her hands.

They sit for a moment in silence. Harry shifts closer to her, their shoulders pressing just close enough to draw comfort, but not enough for Harry to be leaning on her.

‘What should I do?’ he asks, staring at the floor.

She sighs. ‘Honestly?’ she says. ‘I’m not sure. There’s not really time to talk to him tonight, and tomorrow you’re going to the Zoo.’

He groans. ‘God, don’t remind me. Him and me and Hagrid for a whole day. I can’t think of anything worse.’

She chuckles. ‘Well, just think of it as your first date.’

‘Date?’ he asks, mortified.

She shrugs. ‘Look, the way I figure it, _he_ kissed you. That kinda voids his little “it’s not going to happen” speech, right? Obviously he likes you, otherwise he’d have just kept flirting with you to mess with you. The fact that he told you it was a bad idea means that he _must_ have feelings for you. And you have feelings for him, right?’

Harry shrugs. ‘I guess.’

‘Harry Potter,’ says Ginny in her best imitation of her mother’s voice. ‘I suggest you get real certain, because it’s going to be hard enough getting Draco Malfoy, of all people, to agree to go out with you based on the fact that you _might_ have feelings for him.’

Harry flushes. ‘Right, er. Yeah.’

She raises an eyebrow.

Harry drops his gaze and kicks at the floor with the toe of his shoe. ‘I have feelings for him,’ he mumbles in a soft voice.

‘At any rate you seem to enjoy kissing him,’ Ginny teases.

Harry groans and covers his face again, leaning on his elbows. Ginny laughs and shoves at his shoulder.

‘Okay,’ she says, getting more comfortable on the bed. ‘So tell me about the fight. And the kissing.’

He glances up at her and she waggles her eyebrows.

‘I already told you,’ he says, glancing away, still redder then a ripe tomato.

She scoffs. ‘Yeah, cliff notes version,’ she snaps her fingers at him. ‘I want details, man. Details.’

He blanches. ‘Details?’ he asks weakly.

She nods. ‘Come on, you’re gonna have to get better at this stuff, being gay and all.’

‘Didn’t know acting like a girl was a condition of being gay,’ he mumbles, rolling his eyes.

She laughs and smacks him with a pillow. ‘It’s not,’ she says. ‘But seeing as you’re my only gay friend, and I’m the only one you’ve told about this, I figure I should get something out of it, right?’

He stares at her. ‘And, what you want is details?’

‘Exactly,’ she says, and grins. ‘So, tell me what happened.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what exactly happened? You'll have to wait til next chapter to find out ;)  
> Then the Zoo is after that! Hurray!


	21. Distracted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay you get an extra this week because I got excited by all the fluffiness. More to come next chapter with a full day at the Zoo (likely to be a long chapter!)

Chapter Twenty-Two

_Distracted_

 

**_Harry:_ **

Harry is distracted. There are many good reasons for Harry to be distracted—the events of the summer, the endless stream of stares and whispers, and the unexpected (and unwanted) change to his class schedule—and yet all he can seem to think about are the dreams he’s been having.

They torment him. Plaguing his sleep and his waking thoughts with whispers and yearnings, driving him well and truly to distraction. So much so that Hermione has to ask him a question three times before he realises she’s talking to him.

‘Sorry, what?’ he asks, blinking and trying to focus.

She sighs at him. ‘Nothing,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘What’s wrong with you tonight?’

‘Nothing,’ he says, slouching down in his seat and dropping his gaze. ‘Can’t sleep.’

The irritation vanishes from her face and she offers him a sympathetic smile. ‘Nightmares?’ she asks softly.

A wry smile twists Harry’s lips. ‘Uh, yeah, something like that. Look, I’m gonna go for a walk, okay?’

She nods. ‘Remember you’ve got your zoo excursion tomorrow, so don’t stay up too late.’

At least she knows better than to bother reminding him about curfew.

He gives her a wave and trudges out the portrait hole.

The corridors are dark and quiet. _Too_ quiet. His mind starts to wander. Flashes of skin, hot breath, the smell of lemons and honey, and a warmth that pools in Harry’s insides. He shakes his head, tries to clear himself of the thoughts.

The pent up frustration is driving him mad, and he wanders around the castle, barely paying attention to where he’s going and wishing desperately that the quidditch season had started already.

At least then he’d have an outlet for all the nervous energy keeping him awake at night. He runs a hand through his hair, and instantly his mind flashes back to one of the dreams. Soft caresses and touches and Harry groans, scrubbing at his face.

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ he mutters into his hands, for the hundredth or so time.

Truth is, he knows _exactly_ what’s—

Two boys crash around the corner, landing at Harry’s feet in a tangle of flying limbs and grunts of pain, scaring the absolute shit out of him. His heart pounds and it takes a moment for his vision to clear—flashes of a different kind assault him. Red and grey and a rubble strewn street obscuring his vision.

A grunt of pain breaks through the momentary panic, and Harry focus’s just in time to see Malfoy get punched in the face.

‘Hey!’ Harry yells.

The boy, a Ravanclaw, looks up in surprise. Malfoy shoves the boy hard, his palms slamming into his chest and sending him tumbling backwards. Malfoy scrambles backwards and to his feet just as three more Ravenclaw’s round the corner to join the first.

‘Get back here Malfoy you slimy snake!’.

Malfoy watches them, cool eyes narrow and hard. ’Come on then,’ he growls at the Ravenclaws.

Harry takes a step forward. ’What the hell is going on?’ he asks.

For a moment there’s quiet, the six of them standing off. The four Ravenclaws, Draco to one side—the wall at his back, and Harry watching them. The boys seem to waver at the sight of Harry.

‘Stay out of this, Potter,’ Malfoy growls, and swipes blood away from the split in his lip.

Obviously deciding that Harry isn’t a threat, the leader of the Ravenclaws steps forward. ‘You’re gonna pay for last year, Malfoy.’

Malfoy’s muscles tense, and Harry makes to grab him a second too late. Malfoy launches himself at the Ravenclaws, slamming into the group and sending two of them sprawling. Somehow he stays on his feet and takes a swing at a third.

The fourth boy grabs him from behind, pinning his arms, and the lead boy is back on his feet and hits Malfoy hard in the gut, but before he can take a second swing Harry is there, catching his arm and twisting it back.

The boy cries out, spinning to face Harry and trying to get his arm free. Harry clamps down and punches him in the face. Hard.

‘Fuck,’ he swears, shaking out his hand.

He turns, takes a single step toward the boy who has Malfoy pinned, and is shoved forward. He cops a fist the side of his head and sees stars. He swings blindly, his glasses coming askew, and blinks hard. His fist connects with something solid, and a grunt of pain echoes next to his ears. A body bumps into his and there’s a low growl as Harry is pulled backwards. Air moves in front of his face and Harry has the distinct impression he’s just avoided a punch to the face.

Malfoy’s voice barks a spell next to his head, and suddenly Harry can see again, his glasses back in place. He’s pulled out of the way, again by the back of his robes, as one of the Ravenclaw’s launches at them. Malfoy sticks out a foot, tripping the boy and Harry has to admire the quick way he’s back on his feet.

They’re surrounded. Malfoy lets go of Harry’s robes and Harry swings around at the same time as Malfoy. Warmth presses against Harry’s back and they stand there, back to back and panting. There’s a pause in the fight and Harry takes the respite to catch his breath.

‘You really wanna keep going?’ he asks the two guys facing him.

A sneer flashes across one’s face, but the other one has noticed Harry’s wand (now grasped firmly in Harry’s hand, though pointed at the floor—for now) and reaches out to stop his friend from pushing forward. Behind Harry, Draco already has his wand out, and Harry can see the thoughts flash across the Ravenclaws face.

These boys were fourth, maybe fifth years. Harry and Malfoy were both older, stronger, and more experienced. Particularly when it came to magic fights.

‘You’ve made a big mistake, Potter.’

‘I’m just evening the score a little,’ Harry bites back. ‘Four on one, little unfair don’t you think?’

‘Tch,’ the boy scoffs, but he’s still eyeing off Harry’s wand. ‘Whatever, let’s go.’

The boys storm off back the way they came, and Harry turns around to eye off Draco.

‘Making friends?’

Draco rolls his eyes, tucking his wand back up his sleeve. He flicks Harry a scowl.

‘I told you to stay out of it.’

Harry shrugs. ‘Like I said, just evening the score.’

Draco raises a brow and then winces. Along with the split lip, he has a cut across his brow and the start of a black eye. Harry leans forward to inspect it, frowning.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ he says sympathetically.

Draco goes still, his gaze—fixed on Harry’s—is completely unreadable. His breath washes over Harry’s face and Harry’s throat tightens as he realises how close they are. His breath catches and he tries desperately to think of anything except his dreams.

He swallows and takes a step backwards. ‘Sorry,’ he says, but it comes out kind of croaky and he drops his gaze.

’S’alright,’ Draco mutters. ‘Thanks, I guess.’

Harry glances back up again, and offers a nervous grin. ‘Guess we make a good team after all,’ he says.

A small smirk lifts Malfoy’s lips. Harry’s expecting some half-smart retort about how Malfoy makes everyone better…but it doesn’t come. Instead, his eyes drop to Harry’s jaw and he frowns.

The adrenaline that was starting to fade kicks back up a notch, and Harry’s heart thuds painfully in his chest as Malfoy reaches up and brushes a finger across the bruise that’s already starting to form on Harry’s jaw.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ he says, repeating Harry.

He drops his hand, grey eyes flicking back up to Harry’s face. He’s close again, closer than Harry had been before, and Harry has to concentrate on breathing.

‘Yeah,’ he says. Whispers. ‘I…’ he licks his lips and tries again. ‘Could’ve been worse…if you hadn’t…’

He’s not sure what exactly he’s trying to say, only that he’s having trouble focusing on anything except Malfoy’s lips.

Malfoy blinks, and a strange look crosses his face. Part realisation, wariness, anticipation and, yes, wanting; and god, now Harry really can’t breathe.

The soft kiss, pressed lightly to the corner of Harry’s mouth, next to the bruise, breaks what little self control Harry has. He pushes back, grabbing at Draco’s shoulders and holding him in place before he can pull away, his own kiss hot, and fierce and desperate.

Malfoy doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t shove Harry back. Doesn’t try to punch him. His fingers dig in at Harry’s waist and his response is every bit as fiery.

‘I thought,’ Harry gasps pulling back just long enough to ask the question nagging at the back of his mind. ‘That you didn’t approve of my “silly little crush”.’

Malfoy growls, and it vibrates through Harry’s lips. ‘I don’t,’ he says and kisses him. Hard.

‘Little contradictory, don’t you think?’

Malfoy pulls back to give Harry a pointed glare. ‘Potter,’ he says, ‘shut up.’

They stumble into the wall, and Harry grins and happily complies. Malfoy is a strange mixture of soft and fierce, trailing light kisses across Harry’s bruising jaw, before coming back to Harry’s mouth and snogging him soundly.

Whatever they’re doing—there’ll be time to think about it later, _after_ they’ve come to their senses—is over entirely too soon in Harry’s opinion, as the kisses, the strong hands clasped around his waist, and the comfortable warmth spreading between them is all yanked away.

Harry is left gasping and off balance and completely alone as Draco Malfoy disappears down the corridor. Confusion sullies the moment, and Harry is left with nothing but the pooling want at the base of his spine and a lot more new material for his dreams.

He runs a hand through his hair and leans his head back against the wall. ‘Fuck,’ he says.

Hermione’s words come back to him. _‘Remember you’ve got your zoo excursion tomorrow, so don’t stay up too late.’_

‘Fuck,’ he says again and closes his eyes.

How the hell is going to keep his cool around Malfoy for an entire day now?


	22. The Zoo Part One: Dragons and T-Shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Scamander Emporium: Home to the Beautiful and Misunderstood Magical Creature, in which Harry is clumsier than ever and Draco does something unexpectedly nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, okay, so I fell off the side of the Earth for a little bit. I've no excuse, life just got crazy for a bit. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm back and determined to finish this. This story is by no means over - I plan to go all the way through to the end of 7th year and considering 6th year has 46 chapters so far and isn't even finished...that's still a lot of story to cover.
> 
> For now, though, the long awaited Zoo trip! Or, at least half of it (It ended up being way bigger than I'd planned, and this section alone is almost 5,000 words with at least another couple thousand to come in part two).

Chapter Twenty-Three Part One

_Dragons and T-Shirts_

 

**_Tonks:_ **

If there’s anything about her job that Tonks dislikes, it’s having to deal with crowds. Not because of any particular dislike of people—in actuality she rather enjoys people—but more so because there are so many opportunities for her to fall on her arse. Add in a magical zoo (Scamander Emporium no less) and Tonks would be happy if she made it through the day with only minimal embarrassment.

Not to mention putting Potter in the mix. The boy attracted trouble no matter where he went. Sending him into the midst of some of the more dangerous (and, yes okay Newt, _misunderstood_ ) magical creatures was a recipe for disaster she was sure.

She stands waiting just beyond the ticketing booth—a small rectangular booth posing as a coffee shed—watching the crowds for Hagrid’s tell tale height, and frowns when she sees no sign of them. It’s a little after nine, and they were supposed to be here over ten minutes ago.

Figuring that it’s _Potter_ and she’s seen what the boy’s punctuality is like first hand, she resolves to wait and watch a little longer. Next to the booth are two red telephone booths just inside the Notice-Me-Not perimeter, preventing any muggles from attempting to use them. Or see the people frequently coming _out_ but infrequently going _in_.

Eager crowds shuffle by her. The line beyond the ticket booth is loose and orderly, curving around the bend and onto the street, people standing patiently in groups as they chat about the day ahead.

Muggles trudge on by the line, barely paying attention to the oddly dressed groups. Some are in muggle gear, other’s steadfastly refuse to remove their outer robes.

With tickets in hand, Zoo-goers bound passed the coffee hut and through the small gate leading into a nondescript looking park that—to any Muggle—might look like a nice place to drink a coffee.

Casting a quick tempus, Tonks is just debating whether or not to send a patronus to Kingsley asking where the hell they’ve gotten to when she sees Hagrid’s bulk push his way out of one of the small telephone booths. Relief fills her and, after a quick check of metamorphmagus disguise, steps back into the side of the building to watch them.

Two students step out from behind Hagrid. They almost look like brothers. Both are sandy haired, brown eyed and adorned in Hufflepuff colours. Still, whoever did the spellwork on their glamours didn’t do focus too hard on changing their faces, other than hiding Potter’s scar.

The one on the right glances about with Potter’s curious expression on his face. Malfoy’s disinterested on glares at Hagrid’s back and mutters something under his breath. Potter glances sideways at him, a small grin quirking his lips until Malfoy catches him looking and then Potter’s gaze snaps away.

Malfoy frowns, his shoulders stiffening as Potter focuses his attention on anything but the boy beside him.

They step into the line (dwindling now that the gates have been opened for some time) and, with a quick swish of her wand, Tonks can hear the (rather limited) conversation.

‘It’s not really as exciting as I thought it’d be,’ says Potter, looking around again.

Malfoy snorts, casting Potter a sideways glance. ‘It’s the outside of a zoo, what did you expect?’

Potter shrugs. ‘I dunno. Just…more, I guess.’

Both boys tense at that, and Potter ducks his head, running a hand nervously through his hair. Malfoy rolls his eyes.

‘Of course,’ says Malfoy. ‘ _More_. I should’ve guessed.’

Potter flushes. ‘I…that’s not…I just meant that I thought there’d be more signs and stuff.’

Hagrid, taking notice of the conversation behind him, turns slightly to explain with a chuckle. ‘Can’ have signs up ‘ere, ‘Arry. It’s London. I reckon them muggles’d get a fright if they knew what was in ‘ere.’

‘Oh, I didn’t…I mean,’ he glances around, frowns at the scattered muggles walking passed. ‘I didn’t realise we were in Muggle London.’ He blushes again, and adds, ‘probably something I should’ve noticed.’

Malfoy snorts and shoots Potter another sideways look. ‘Do you _ever_ pay attention.’

Potter crosses his arms. ‘Yes,’ he says

’S’alright ‘Arry,’ says Hagrid cheerfully. ‘Anyone coulda made that mistake.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes and mutters something about pandering that Tonks can’t quite hear. As Hagrid steps up to the ticket booth he turns to Potter and says,

‘Don’t worry, Potter, you want more? Just you wait til we step through that gate.’

Potter glances at the small, low, innocent looking fence and the parklands beyond with a dubious expression. Malfoy sees it and smirks but doesn’t say anything to further his point.

He just watches. Hagrid steps away from the booth, three tickets in his hand, and gestures the boys to follow. They do, and Tonks peels away from the wall and falls into step several metres behind them. Malfoy is fixated on Potter, watching expectantly as they step through the gate.

Potter casts Malfoy one last doubtful look, shakes his head and follows Hagrid through the small gate and the thin, imperceptible layer of magic shielding the Zoo from the prying eyes of Muggles.

Tonks follows, but has to stop just inside the boundary of the gate when Potter freezes. His jaw drops and he comes to an abrupt standstill, gaping at the world he’s just stepped into.

A huge shimmering dome stretches high above them in an arc. Heards of flying horses swoop overhead, braying and calling out to one another as they glide gracefully once, twice above the entrance square before disappearing over the tops of a line of trees.

The trees themselves are ancient and enormous, reaching up toward the peak of the dome and blocking out most the light. Their branches are adorned with hundreds of floating lanterns, each coloured with a different coloured light, casting a multicoloured glow on the ground below.

Little creatures dance in the light, flitting in and out of the shadows faster than the eye can follow. Tonks can just make out the vivid plumage of several Fwoopers in amongst the branches.

On the other side of the square a young (from it’s size) Antipodean Opaleye lets loose a fiery, scarlet flamed roar in greeting, startling several groups of patrons.

Tonks grinned, turning to admire the beast. It’s iridescent, pearl scales glitter under the ambient light the dome casts.

‘So how about it, Potter?’ Malfoy says, and Tonks shifts her attention back to the trio. ‘Is _this_ more like what you expected?’

Malfoy is grinning as he talks, watching Potter who is twisting his head back and forth, unable to decide where to look first and too overwhelmed to take it all in.

‘This,’ Potter says. ‘this is…fucking _awesome_!’

Malfoy laughs, and Tonks is surprised by the genial nature of it. As if the boy—who Tonks has been led to believe doesn’t get on well with Potter—is enjoying Potter’s obvious excitement.

Potter looks up at Hagrid, who is beaming down at the pair, clearly enjoying watching them soak up the experience.

‘Can we go look closer at the dragon?’ he asks.

Hagrid nods and gestures toward the young, iridescent dragon. ‘Tha’s why we’re ‘ere, ain’t we.’

Potter grins, grabs Malfoy by the arm and starts toward the beast (that is at least double his size even if it is just a baby) without a hint of trepidation.

Tonks knows that he’s faced dragons before (twice, if the stories are correct) and yet she still can’t help but admire the way he charges forward, eyes gleaming as he drags his rather more anxious looking companion.

‘Merlin Potter, you can’t just go storming up to a bloody _dragon_!’

’S’alright,’ says Hagrid, following diligently behind the two boys. ‘This ‘ere is Pod, he’s harmless. Jus’ a wee baby Antipodean Opaleye. They’re from New Zealand. Not very big fer a dragon, and fairly mild tempered, they are. Pod’s a good boy. Keeper might even let you pat ‘im if you ask.’

Malfoy’s eyes bulge out of his head and he pulls back on Potter’s grip on his arm. ‘There is no way I’m patting a dragon!’

‘Don’t be such a baby,’ says Potter, glancing back at Malfoy with bright eyes and a wild grin. ‘You heard Hagrid, he’s harmless.’

Tonks almost laughs at the expression of mingled disbelief, pleasure and wariness warring over the Dragon Keeper’s face at Potter’s announcement. As the trio stop just shy of the (still huge) baby dragon, the Keeper settles on satisfaction, obviously pleased to have people admire his charge.

‘Ello Archie,’ says Hagrid, stepping around the boys to beam at the young Keeper.

The Keeper grins. ‘Hello Hagrid, how are you?’

Potter—who had been gazing up into Pod’s opal eyed gaze—leans around Malfoy to look between Hagrid and the Keeper. ‘Do you two know each other?’ he asks.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and groans. ‘Merlin’s balls you are such a Gryffindor. They just greeted each other by name. _Obviously_ they know each other.’

Potter crosses his arms and shoots Malfoy a glare. ‘No need to be nasty about it, I was just asking,’ he scowls.

Hagrid chuckles, as if this is perfectly normal behaviour. ‘This ‘ere is Archie, he did his training with Charlie a few years back.’

‘Charlie?’ asks Potter. ‘You mean Charlie Weasley?’

‘You know him?’ asks Archie, surprise raising his eyebrows.

‘Yeah, I’m friends with his brother,’ says Potter.

Archie frowns and looks Potter and Malfoy up and down. ‘All the Weasley’s are in that red house aren’t they? The one with the lion.’

‘Er, yeah,’ says Potter, wincing. ‘But we’re in the same year, so classes and what not. Did you not go to Hogwarts?’

Archie shakes his head.

‘’E’s a Bauxbaton boy,’ says Hagrid, shooting Archie a small smile. ‘Pity, coulda made a great addition to Hogwarts.’

‘So Charlie’s always saying,’ says Archie with a smile.

‘One o’ the best Keeper’s around,’ says Hagrid, turning to look seriously at Potter and Malfoy. ‘Good head on ‘im. Good Voice. You should pay attention to Keeper’s like ‘im. Lot you could learn.’

‘Voice?’ asks Malfoy. ‘I didn’t know you had to sing to be a Dragon Keeper.’

Archie grins and shares a look with Hagrid.

‘Ah, no,’ says Hagrid. ‘It’s just what we say when we’re talking about Keeper’s who can communicate with a Dragon. Or, I guess communicate isn’t the righ’ word. It’s more o’ a sixth sense.’

‘Like a horse whisperer,’ says Potter and Hagrid beams.

‘Exactly.’

Malfoy frowns. ‘What the hell is a horse whisperer?’

Potter stares at him and shakes his head. ‘If you don’t know, I’ve no idea how to explain it to you.’ Then he turns to Archie and gestures at Pod. ‘Hagrid said he was only a baby, how old is he?’

‘About five,’ says Archie, and points to the ridge of Pod’s spine, just below his neck. ‘See that small nub there just before his neck. That’s how you can tell. The thicker it is, the older they are.’

Potter’s eyes go wide, and he leans up on his tip-toes to get a better look. Pod, as if sensing the attention, shakes his head, snorts, and lowers himself a little—offering Potter a better vantage point. Potter, grinning widely, takes a step closer.

Malfoy grabs at his arm, trying to pull him back, but Potter just throws him a sly smile and takes another half step.

‘Why is he here?’ asks Malfoy. ‘I thought the Zoo didn’t have a permit for Dragons?’

‘Most breeds are too large to have any here in central London; but Pod is fairly small in size, even at his age. If we left him with his clutch he probably wouldn’t survive, so we made special arrangements to have him live here. Now he’s sort of the unofficial mascot for Scamander Emporium.’

‘Just how Newt woulda wanted it,’ says Hagrid, smiling over at Pod with an appreciative gleam in his eye.

Archie nods in agreement.

Potter, still staring at Pod, asks, ‘Can I touch him?’

Archie chuckles. ‘I thought the yellow house was supposed to be for the meek ones? I think maybe he’s in the wrong house,’ he says this to Hagrid.

Hagrid laughs a little, but it’s a nervous laugh. Tonks braces herself, ready to intervene if she has to (though, she really doesn’t want to go sending confundus charms at Dragon Keeper’s).

‘Sorry chap,’ says Archie, turning to Potter. ‘Best not to get too familiar with Pod. He doesn’t much like it.’

Potter’s shoulders droop, but he doesn’t back away. He stares up at Pod with those big green eyes and says in a low voice, ‘You’re amazing, you know that Pod?’

Pod turns his head, swivelling one large, opal eye to fixate on Potter. Potter doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breath.

Tonks feels her pulse quicken, and she glances sharply at the keeper. The man is watching, curious, but unworried.

Pod tilts his head, a deep rumble vibrating from his chest. Potter grins.

‘You’re a lot prettier than the other Dragon’s I’ve seen,’ he says, still in that low voice. ‘Doesn’t matter that you’re small, you know. I bet that doesn’t give you any trouble does it? Being small never stopped me. Just means you gotta fight a little harder.’

Pod blinks once, and then, with deliberate slowness, dips his head low, crouching on his front legs to lower himself to Potter’s height. He looks Potter square in the eyes and lets out a soft, humming breath straight into Potter’s face, blowing his hair back.

Potter, still gazing at the creature that is at least double his size, carefully raises one hand, palm flat and raised upwards. Archie shifts, taking a step forward, but Potter stops before touching the dragon and Pod is still sitting in that half crouched position, watching the scrawny boy before him with obvious curiosity—intelligence burning behind those bright eyes.

After a tense moment, in which no one moves, Pod drops his snout, brushing it briefly against Potter’s palm. Then, in a swift movement, he bounds away and up a nearby tree, ripping giant claw marks into the bark as he scurries up the trunk to disappear into the foliage above.

Potter laughs—loud and cheery—while everyone else (Tonks included) gapes at him.

‘Merlin,’ says Archie, shaking his head and getting a hold of himself first. ‘I’ve never seen him do that before.’

‘Of course,’ mutters Malfoy, still staring at Potter in disbelief. ‘You’re here all of five minutes and you already made friends with a Dragon.’

‘They’re not so bad,’ says Potter, still gazing after Pod. ‘He’s just shy is all.’

Archie snorts and glances at Hagrid. ‘Let me know when he graduates, I know a few people who’d be interested in a tamer with his skill.’

He gives Potter another appraising look, shakes his head, and turns to walk off to the tree—no doubt to try and coax his charge back down out of the tree.

‘Tamer?’ Potter asks, shifting to look up at his Professor.

Hagrid is beaming, bright and watery eyed. ‘Always knew you’d be great with the creatures ‘Arry. Ever since Buckbeak. An’ I know yer want to be an Auror, but give it a think, will yer? I reckon you’d be a great Dragon Tamer.’

Potter blinks and scratches the back of his neck. ‘I’d never really thought about it before, to be honest.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ‘Of course you haven’t. C’mon, let’s keep moving before you get anymore job offers.’ He shakes his head and mutters something about needing coffee and Potter laughs and follows diligently behind him.

They trail through the various corridor’s of the Zoo at an even, wandering pace. Potter takes it all in with a child-like amazement that Tonks hasn’t seen before. Normally, when she sees him during the summer, he’s broody and frustrated and as much a teenager as she ever saw.

Though, she supposes after several weeks with his family, she can’t blame him for that.

Still, it’s nice to see this side of the Boy Who Lived.

So far there’s been no need for her presence. She knows (from Mcgonagall’s letter) that the boys are being passed off as brothers from Hufflepuff, and with their disguises they certainly look the part, but Tonks finds herself increasingly amused by the way they’re interacting.

They certainly don’t _act_ like brothers. Or even reluctant partners.

There’s a tension that hangs between them that is _almost_ what she was told to expect, but she detects an undercurrent of something else.

When they stop outside the erumpent enclosure, Potter leans forward over the rail, shifting sideways into Malfoy’s personal space almost without realising. The other boy glances at him, but doesn’t shift away. Instead, he leans forward as well, and mutters something to Potter, low and inaudible to Tonks’ ears.

Potter laughs, abrupt and loud, startled at whatever joke Malfoy has made. He glances sideways, flushes pink and turns to look back out at the enclosure.

The erumpent trots into view.

Hagrid stands to one side, regaling the boys with a story (accompanied by huge hand gestures that about knock over other surrounding patrons) about the erumpents. Potter watches the creature intently, his head half turned as he listens to Hagrid, but Malfoy is clearly not paying attention. He stands side on, leaning one hip on the rail, watching Potter rather than the creature they’ve come all this way to see.

Tonks, annoyed at the sudden thickening crowd, shifts closure, trying to hear what they’re talking about.

‘Luna told us that they’ve been hunted nearly to extinction,’ Potter says and leans his elbows on the rail. ‘Is that true?’

‘Aye, tha’ it is. Real shame. They’re beau’iful creatures. Very gentle.’

Potter shakes his head. ‘We’re no better than Muggles,’ he mutters, he sighs and straightens, glancing sideways at Malfoy. ‘Guess Luna was right then?’

‘She usually is,’ says Malfoy dryly. ‘Annoying as it is.’

Potter shoots a grin up at Malfoy and the stoic boy offers a small smile in return.

‘C’mon,’ says Potter, nudging Malfoy with his elbow before stepping away quickly and ducking his head. ‘Let’s go get some food. I’m half starved.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes, but says with a smile. ‘You’re always half starved. It’s not even lunch.’

‘Morning tea then,’ says Potter, waving a hand at him. ‘C’mon, you can’t tell me you aren’t dying for a coffee. Besides, Hagrid doesn’t mind, do you?’

‘Course not,’ says Hagrid with a smile. ‘There’s a cart between here and the next enclosure.’

Potter grins. ‘I know,’ he says.

Malfoy frowns. ‘I thought you’ve never been here before? How do you know where the food carts are?’

‘I checked the map,’ says Potter.

‘You actually kept that?’

‘Of course. I always keep the maps. They’re kind of like a souvenir. You didn’t keep yours?’

‘You do realise that’s what the souvenir shop is for, don’t you? So you can keep something other than that flimsy bit of paper.’

Potter shrugs, craning his head to look for the coffee cart. ‘Yeah, I know. But I was never allowed in the shop. So the map was the only evidence that I’d actually been allowed out of the house.’

Tonks frowns. Her Auror eye flicks over the group. She notes the tension that’s built. The unhappy (if unsurprised) frown on Hagrid’s face. The bemused crease of Malfoy’s brow, the way his shoulder’s tense as he takes in Potter’s nonchalant words.

Potter, seeming to grow uncomfortable in the relative silence, glances back. ‘So, erm, _do_ you want coffee? I think I found the cart.’

After a long moment, in which Malfoy continues to frown at Potter, he finally says, ‘Sure. I’ll have—‘

‘A tripple, non-fat machiatto with vanilla,’ says Potter, walking backwards toward the cart as he grins at Malfoy, his voice teasing.

‘A tripple nonfat what?’ Tonks mutters, shaking her head and wondering what the hell happened to plain old coffee.

And why, exactly, has Potter taken the time to memorise the obnoxious coffee order of someone he supposedly hates?

‘Hagrid, you want anything?’

’Tea,’ says Hagrid, giving Malfoy a bemused look. ‘Jus’ tea, thanks.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, leave off would you.’

Potter laughs, turns and joins the line to the cart.

Tonks moves, putting herself between the now split group, leaning against the side of a map of the park and pretending to check the time. As if waiting to meet someone.

‘Sir?’ says Malfoy after a long moment of silence.

Hagrid—who was watching Potter at the cart—startles and looks down at Malfoy in surprise. As if he’s unused to the boy’s attention.

‘Is that true?’

Hagrid frowns and scratches at his beard. He follows Malfoy’s gaze, which is still fixated on Potter, and his expression clears.

‘Yer mean abou’ ‘Arry?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Did his relatives really not let him go anywhere?’

Hagrid scratches at his beard again. ‘Hm. I don’t rightly know. Bu’, I did meet ‘em once. They weren’t what you’d call good people.’ He glances down at Malfoy and, seeming to realise who he’s talking to, clears his throat and says, ‘bu’ he probably wouldn’t want us talking abou’ it.’

When Potter comes back with the drinks, Malfoy accepts his with a small smile and a soft ‘thanks.’

‘I still don’t know how you drink that stuff,’ says Potter, handing Hagrid his tea but grinning at Malfoy.

Malfoy gives him an inscrutable look, before rolling his eyes. ‘As apposed to that?’ he asks, gesturing to Potter’s cup in disgust. ‘Let me guess, black, no sugar?’

Potter grins and takes a sip. ‘You forgot extra hot,’ he says.

Malfoy smirks. ‘No I didn’t,’ he says.

Something unspoken passes between them and Potter’s face goes beet red. He drops his gaze, rubs the back of his neck and looks around.

‘So,’ he says, and his voice hitches an octave too high. Clearly his throat, he tries again. ‘So, what’s next?’

Malfoy only grins.

They spend twenty minutes trailing through the winged horse section. Hagrid and Malfoy actually manage to hold a conversation over by the Abraxan heard, while Potter looks on in amusement, idly sipping his coffee and absently petting one of the foals that has come up to him. Neither of the other two notice.

The boys, predictably, spend an inordinate amount of time in the Avery—Potter somehow managing to convince Malfoy into chasing after the Golden Snidget’s, not trying to catch them, but each boy trying to outrace the other.

When Hagrid finally drags them out of there it’s definitely passed lunchtime, and Tonks—on her last prepared snack of the day—is desperately hoping for a food stop. Or the very least another coffee break.

She heaves a sigh of relief as she exits the Avery a short distance behind them, and sees the group heading toward a food vendor.

Potter and Malfoy stop for more coffee as Hagrid scopes out a spot that will fit them. As the boys are heading back (and Tonks is settling herself into a small table three spots over from Hagrid), five small crups burst from some nearby bushes, snarling and biting at each other, and stampede through the seating area.

‘Oi!’ yelps Potter, taking a sharp step back as the pups tear through the path in front of him.

He steps back, bumping straight into Malfoy whose fresh cup of coffee is knocked out of his hand and all over the front of his uniform.

‘ _Fuck_!’ Malfoy exclaims, grabbing at his shirt and pulling it away from his skin.

Potter, turning sharply, sees what’s happened and goes pale. ‘Shit, sorry! I’m sorry—Hang on,’ he yanks out his wand and with a flick of his wand (and a flinch from Malfoy) the hot liquid is gone.

Potter, noticing Malfoy’s wince, eyes him carefully. ’Are you burnt?’ he asks.

Malfoy shrugs, and looks down at his now stained, but no longer burning shirt. ‘Don’t think so,’ he says, voice subdued. He sighs. ‘My shirt is ruined.’

‘You can fix it, can’t you? Here—‘ he goes to lift his wand again but Malfoy grabs his arm.

‘Don’t,’ he says and throws Potter a shrewd look. ‘I’d rather not have anymore experience with your habit of blowing things up by accident.’

Potter flushes. ‘That was one time,’ he says, glaring. ‘I was just trying to help.’

‘Well don’t,’ says Malfoy. ‘It’s silk. You can’t fix it.’

Potter frowns, staring at the shirt. ‘I didn’t know our uniforms were made of silk. Seems kind of silly, really.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ‘Of course they aren’t. Well, normally anyway. Mother had mine custom made.’

Potter pauses. He shoots Malfoy a quick glance and says, in a rather diplomatic tone of voice, ‘Ah.’

Malfoy glares at him. ‘Oh, shut up.’

‘What? I didn’t say anything.’

‘No, but you were thinking it,’ Malfoy rolls his eyes again. ‘Come on, let’s go get some food.’

‘Hang on a second,’ says Potter, grabbing Malfoy’s arm. He nods with his head to a group of shops just off from the food vendors. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

Dread fills Malfoy’s face, but Potter just grins, tightens his grip and drags the boy off to the shops.

Tonks looks down at the menu in her hands and back up at the boys retreating backs.

‘Where’re you two off to?’ Hagrid calls.

‘Back in a minute,’ Potter calls over his shoulder, over the top of Malfoy’s protesting. ‘Just gonna have a look at some souvenir’s.’

Tonks sighs. She waves off the girl come to take her order (and attempts to squash her hunger) and heads after them.

She steps into the brightly lit shop and glances around, her eyes assaulted by various toys, shirts and prospective souvenir’s—each one claiming to be the very _best_ the emporium has to offer.

‘—way in hell am I trying that on,’ comes Malfoy’s disgruntled voice from the back of the store.

‘Oh come on,’ says an exasperated Potter. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘What’s wrong with it? What’s _wrong_ with it? Do you have _eyes_? It’s hideous!’

‘Well, what about this one?’

‘No.’

‘What about—’

‘ _No._ ’

‘God, you’re such a girl.’

Tonks shuffles along the aisles, careful to keep her arms firmly by her side whilst also pretending to study the various knick knacks on the shelves—not an easy feat mind you. She spies them in the back corner, looking over the shirts on offer, most of which boasting some claim at having visited Scamander Emporium.

Potter is holding two shirts, one in each hand, while Malfoy—arms crossed and looking decidedly unhappy—glares at him. Potter thrusts them back on the rack and picks up another.

‘How about this one then?’

Malfoy sighs and runs a hand through his perfectly neat hair. ‘Potter,’ he says in a low voice.

Alarmed, Tonks looks around. Thankfully there’s no one nearby, but she casts a muffling charm just in case.

‘I am not walking around this zoo all day in some stupid shirt that—’

‘I’ll buy it for you,’ says Potter, cutting him off. ‘As a gift.’

‘A…gift?’

Potter nods. Shrugs. Blushes. ‘Come on, be a good sport,’ he says. ‘I want to get one and it’s no fun doing it alone.’

Malfoy frowns at him a moment longer and Tonks is sure he’s going to declare is refusal and storm out of there (and then she can finally get some food) but instead he relents.

He glares skywards, sighs, says, ‘ _Fine_ ,’ in a sour and annoyed tone.

Potter’s face lights up. ‘Really?’

Malfoy glowers at him, but he uncrosses his arms, snatches the shirt and stomps over to the changing room.

He emerges a minute later, fiddling with the shirt collar, and comes to a stop, raising an eyebrow at Potter. ‘Well what’re you standing around for? Are you going to pick a shirt or what?’

Potter grins and turns to the rack. ‘I don’t know which one to get. They’re all so good. What do you think?’

Malfoy casts a quick cursory glance over the shirts, and points. ‘That one.’

Without hesitating, Potter picks it off the rack and darts off to the change room. Malfoy shakes his head. Then he turns his head, leaning up on his tip toes to scan the store. Seeming to find what he’s after, he casts a quick look back at the change rooms before setting off toward the centre of the store.

Tonks watches him.

He picks his way through the store toward the counter, pulls out his wallet and pays for the two shirts. Tonks blinks.

Malfoy starts to head back, pauses and turns back to the counter. ‘Actually,’ Tonks hears him say. ‘Could I get a framed copy of the map?’

‘The…the zoo map?’ the clerk asks doubtfully.

Malfoy just gives him a look.

‘Er, yes,’ says the clerk. ‘I’m sure that’s doable.’

‘I’d like it now,’ says Malfoy, drumming his fingers along the counter, staring at the poor kid that can’t be more than a year two older than Malfoy himself.

‘Er, right. I mean yes, Sir. I’ll get right on it.’

Malfoy nods and heads back over to the change rooms.

Potter emerges, his robes bunched up under one arm and his new shirt proudly on display. Tonks muffles a snort of amusement.

‘What d’you think?’ he asks.

Malfoy gives him a once over, the corners of his lips lifting into a smirk as he takes in the shirt in all it’s glory. ‘Yep, that’s you alright.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, any ideas on what Harry's shirt says?


	23. The Zoo Part Two: Ice-Cream and Parselmouths

Chapter Twenty-Three Part Two

_Ice-Cream and Parselmouths_

 

**_Tonks:_ **

She watches them out of the corner of her eye from three seats over, simultaneously stuffing her face with a double helping of hot chips and a cottage pie, and unashamedly eavesdropping on the two boys across from her.

‘You didn’t have to pay for the shirts,’ says Potter for perhaps the tenth time since their food arrived.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and scrapes his fork across his almost empty plate. ‘Yes, well, you were taking too long,’ he says, glancing sideways toward Hagrid.

The half giant is standing several feet away, in the same place he’d been when they walked out, talking animatedly with one of the zoo keepers. He’d offered them a quick wave, told them their lunches had been paid for—they just had to pick—and then resumed his conversation and hadn’t stopped since.

‘I wasn’t taking _that_ long,’ says Potter. ‘And it was my idea. Are you _sure_ you don’t want any money?’

‘If you ask me that one more time, I’m going to stuff the rest of that burger down your throat until you choke,’ says Malfoy in a huff, dropping his fork on the plate and sitting back. ‘Merlin, can’t you just say “thank you” like a normal person and move on?’

Potter blushes and shrugs, looking down at his half eaten food. ‘Thanks,’ he says in a quiet, shy voice.

Malfoy, watching him with that increasingly unreadable expression, flushes pink. ‘You’re welcome,’ he says and looks away, over at Hagrid. ‘Merlin does that man ever stop talking?’

Potter looks up. ‘I heard him mention Fluffy before. He’ll be hours yet.’

‘Fluffy?’

‘His three headed dog,’ says Potter nonchalantly.

‘He has a _three headed dog_?’

‘He did, yeah. You didn’t know?’

Tonks muffles a snort and shakes her head. She should be surprised. Really, she should be horrified. But she’s not. After all, it _is_ Hagrid.

‘I think I need another coffee,’ mutters Malfoy, shaking his head.

‘You’ve already had two,’ Potter points out, gesturing at the replacement cup in front of him.

It’s still half full, if the steam coming off it is any indication.

‘So?’

Potter grins and shakes his head. ‘You have a problem,’ he says softly.

Malfoy throws a chip at him. ‘Like you’re any better,’ he says and eyes off the rest of Potter’s burger. ‘Are you going to finish that?’

‘Probably not.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes again. ‘It’s no wonder you’re so bloody skinny,’ he says, but he pulls the plate toward him and starts to pick at the chips.

A shadow falls over them and they both look up into the beaming face of an exuberant Hagrid. ‘Alrigh’, all done then?’ he asks. ‘Good. There’s a demonstration in the reptile tent, an’ if we hurry we can get there before it starts.’

Both boys faces light up in interest. Tonks hurriedly stuffs the last few chips in her mouth, grabs her juice and jumps up—easing into a group of harried looking adults being dragged around by children.

‘Say,’ says Potter, peering curiously at Malfoy’s shopping bag. ‘What else did you buy at the store?’

‘None of your business,’ says Malfoy.

He produces his wand with a flourish and flicks it at the bag. It shrinks and zips into one of his pockets, hidden from view. Potter mutters something Tonks can’t hear under his breath—something derogatory from the sounds of it—and Malfoy flicks him in the back of the head.

Instead of retaliating, Potter glances back at Malfoy with a bright grin and races after Hagrid, disappearing into a stone, domed circular building on the edge of the park.

The reptile exhibit is a strange mix of bright and dark. The room, dimly lit, has a faint dusky smell to it and in the brief moment it takes for Tonks eyes to adjust to the subdued light she almost looses sight of Potter and Malfoy. Almost. But there’s Hagrid’s bulking form, already finding a seat at the edge of the cramped little theatre.

It takes Tonks a moment to find Potter and Malfoy among all the people crammed into the small audience area, forgetting for a moment that the boys are in disguise. She spies them off to the side of Hagrid and finds a place only two seats behind them.

Though the room has obviously been enlarged, it’s not enough to hold more than twenty odd people, and even then it’s cramped. Obviously they don’t get a lot of viewers to the snake exhibit and Tonks can see why.

Hanging below the ceiling, suspended by magic, was the skeleton of what could only be a Basilisk.

People stared up at the thing in varying degrees of discomfort or even fear, though Tonks noted that Potter was one of the few people gazing up at it in awe.

With all the people it’d be impossible to use an eavesdropping spell, and so Tonks digs around in her pocket and withdraws the thin strip of flesh she’d confiscated from Fred and George Weasley earlier that year. She grins, marvelling at their genius. Really, Mad-Eye should consider hiring them to make Auror products.

Putting aside that thought for later, she drops the Extendable Ear on the ground and gives it a quick flick of her wand. It shoots off out of sight beneath the seats. She jams the other end into her ear (offering an easy smile to the disturbed gentleman next to her) and waits.

‘—just don’t have overly fond memories of Zoos,’ comes Potter’s voice.

‘Thought you were never allowed out of the house,’ Malfoy says dryly.

‘Couldn’t be helped,’ says Potter, his voice indifferent. ‘My usual babysitter was out of action. They had no choice to bring me. Not that they were pleased about it. Not that I blame them.’

‘You don’t?’ asks Malfoy in disbelief.

‘Well…I _did_ accidentally set a Boa on my cousin.’

‘How do you accidentally set a snake on someone?’

Potter’s voice shifts into amusement. ‘I vanished the glass.’

There’s a moment of silence and then Malfoy chuckles. ‘Ladies and Gentleman, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Set-Snakes-On-Innocent-People.’

Harry laughs. ‘Damn, you discovered my secret!’

Another moment of silence. ‘Though, knowing you, your cousin probably deserved it.’

Potter doesn’t respond, though there’s a rustle of clothing and Tonks has the distinct impression that he’s shrugged. Eventually he says, ‘that was the first time I ever spoke to a snake.’

‘You spoke to it?’

‘Yeah, only I didn’t realise it was speaking another language.’

‘How do you not realise you’re hissing?’

Another rustle of clothing. ‘It doesn’t sound like hissing. It just sounds normal. Like they’re speaking english.’

‘And you didn’t think that was weird?’

‘Well yeah, but I was only eleven. Well, almost. Oh hey, it’s starting.’

Tonks tunes out the show. She’s never been overly interested in magical creatures (aside from watching Charlie Weasley’s antics during class) and if she’s honest, snakes just creep her out.

Twenty minutes later the show ends. There’s a size-changing snake wrapped around the presenter’s shoulders that had just demonstrated it’s ability to change from a tiny snake capable only of eating a small bug, to a creature huge enough to devour a chicken whole without blinking.

The crowds disburse—rather quickly after that display—but the boys linger. They’re still sitting on the little benches, and Tonks notes that they’re slightly closer together than necessary, their shoulders pressed together.

Hagrid pushes up to his feet and turns to look at them, smiling even though he has to duck in the low ceilinged room.

Malfoy quickly follows suit, standing up and stepping away from Potter.

‘What’d you think?’ asks Hagrid, beaming.

‘It was great Hagrid,’ says Potter, smiling. ‘Do you mind if we have a look around a bit? I want to get a closer look at that Ashwinder. She was funny.’

Hagrid hesitates for a moment and then beams. ‘O’ course, ‘Arry.’

Harry grins and nods. Casting Malfoy a quick, almost _wistful_ look, he gets up and heads over to the glass enclosures on the other side of the room.

Tonks, running out of groups to mingle with as people vacate the enclosure, steps back into a nearby wall and casts a disillusion spell on herself. Cold trickles down her spine and she prepares herself to stay immovably still for what could possibly be a long period of time.

Potter glances around the room, eyes trailing over the last group to leave the room. Once the door swings shut, he leans forward over the observation rail and peers into one of the tanks. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, instead a soft whisper of hissing slips through the air.

A second shiver of cold creeps along Tonks skin, raising all the hairs on her arm as she watches.

After a moment, a livid orange head pokes out of the green foliage. Then a second, and then a third.

A runespoor.

They hiss back at Potter. He smiles, languid and relaxed as he engages in a low, whispery conversation with the snake.

Hagrid watches from the middle of the room, sitting back down so he’s not half crouched.

On the other side of the room, Malfoy is pretending not to watch. He trails around passed the enclosures, glancing into each one with mild disinterest, but his gaze is drawn each time to Potter and the Roonspoor.

Inevitably, his path leads him to there and he shuffles toward Potter in inches, as if he doesn’t want to intrude on the conversation Potter is clearly enjoying but can’t help being curious about it.

Tonks doesn’t blame him. She’s curious too.

Malfoy pauses on the next tank. He leans a hip against the rail and turns to watch Potter, his eyes shifting back and forth between Potter and the snake with more interest than he’s shown to the rest of the exhibit and it’s only her Auror training (and the thought of what Mad-Eye would do to her if she messed this up over something as stupid as laughing) that keeps Tonks from smiling.

Harry starts to laugh. He leans forward, to continue the conversation, but Malfoy goes stiff all of a sudden. He steps forward and grabs Potter’s arm.

Potter glances up, confusion in his face, but Tonks has just seen the keeper step back into the room from the staff entrance. The Occamy is no longer wrapped around his shoulders and he pauses as he sees there are still people in the exhibit.

Tonks breathes a small sigh of relief. If Malfoy hadn’t stopped Potter, that keeper would have heard.

‘Oh, hello,’ he says with a smile. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. Usually people clear out pretty quick. Did you have questions?’

‘Ah sorry,’ says Hagrid, getting to his feet again and almost bumping into the skeleton above his head. ‘Didna mean to intrude.’

The keeper waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Nonsense,’ he says. ‘I’m always happy to have people stay a little longer.’ He glances over the group. ‘You’re from Hogwarts aren’t you?’

They nod.

The keeper smiles. He hesitates a moment, then asks ‘I don’t suppose any of you know Harry Potter?’

Malfoy snorts and rolls his eyes, but Tonks sees his grip (that he hasn’t yet released) tighten around Potter’s arm. A warning, no doubt.

The keeper flushes. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he says hurriedly. ‘Just…I’ve heard he’s a parseltongue.’

‘Is tha’ a problem?’ asks Hagrid, his voice unusually gruff.

His huge frame has stiffened and he looks bigger than usual as he stares down at the keeper.

’No! No, no of course not. Actually, I was…er, I was wondering if any of you have seen it?’

‘Seen what?’ asks Malfoy, releasing Potter and crossing his arms.

‘Seen him speak with snakes,’ asks the keeper eagerly. ‘Oh, I’d give anything to be able to.’

Potter tilts his head. ‘Really?’

The keeper smiles. He steps up to the Runespoor tank, where the snake has slithered closer to the glass and was trying to catch Potter’s attention.

‘These creatures,’ says the keeper with a smile. ‘They’re so misunderstood. People associate them with the dark arts because of creatures like Basilisks but most of them are beautiful and intelligent and well, quite simply wonderful. I’d love to be able to speak to them. To be a voice for them. I thought maybe…when I heard that Harry Potter was a parselmouth, maybe…’

Tonks sees Malfoy’s shoulders tense before she sees the expression of wistful hope on Potter’s face. She winces and curses internally, silently willing him not to say anything.

After all, her memory charms are a little rusty and she’d rather not have to obligate anyone.

‘He thinks they’re wonderful too,’ says Potter in a soft voice. ‘They’re smart, and funny, and can love to talk…or, at least that’s what I’ve heard.’

The keeper looks over at him with bright eyes. ‘Really?’

Potter nods. ‘Yeah. Though he doesn’t talk to them much. I think it makes him nervous. Not talking to snakes, but the way other people react.’

The keeper shakes his head. ‘I must admit, though I’ve often wished for the power to converse with my charges, I don’t envy the prejudice that comes with it. It’s not right the way they’re treated.’

‘Maybe…maybe you should write to him?’ suggests Potter. ‘Maybe it’ll help him to know that not everyone will think he’s dangerous because of something he can’t control. Maybe…maybe he can help change people’s minds about magical snakes?’

‘You think so?’ asks the Keeper excitedly. ‘Though,’ he says with a frown. ‘I doubt my letter would get through. He probably gets a tonne of mail.’

‘Give it to me,’ says Potter, stepping forward. ‘I mean, we have some similar classes, I can make sure he gets it.’

‘I…really?’

‘Er, I’m not sure—‘

‘Of course,’ says Potter, cutting off Hagrid. ‘We have to head back to school in another hour or so, but I can come back and get it before we go if you like?’

The keeper blinks, teetering on the edge of excitement and hesitation. Eventually, excitement wins out.

He shakes Potter’s hand exuberantly, and Potter laughs awkwardly, obviously embarrassed about the attention.

‘Sorry to break this up,’ says Malfoy, stepping forward to grab Potter’s arm again. ‘But like he said, we only have an hour or so left, so we best keep going.’

‘Of course, of course. Thank you! Enjoy the rest of the park!’

Malfoy drags Potter to the exit without answering. He’s shaking his head, clearly exasperated. Hagrid, with a quick, nervous smile to the Keeper, follows.

Malfoy grumbles the whole way out. ’I can’t believe you can fans even when you’re pretending _not_ to be you,’ he mutters under his breath as they pass Tonks’ hiding place.

‘Oh shut up,’ Potter grumbles. ‘I was just trying to help. He’s was nice enough.’

‘We’re supposed to be undercover Potter, honestly, you’re _completely_ …’

Their voices trail away and Tonks waits until the Keeper’s attention is back on his previous snakes, before cancelling her charm and slipping out of the exhibit.

Outside, Malfoy has dictated a new direction. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s go get ice-cream.’

Potter looks at him curiously, his feet crunching along the leaves on the path. ‘You’ve just called me every insult known to man, and now you want to get ice-cream?’

‘Well, insulting you does work up an appetite.’

Potter chuckles.

‘Besides,’ says Malfoy. ‘You’re the one going on about having a “proper” zoo experience. So obviously getting ice-cream is on the list.’

Potter raises his eyebrows, but there’s a growing smile on his lips. ‘Alright then,’ he says and Malfoy starts tonod. ‘But I’m paying this time.’

Malfoy blinks. ‘That’s really not necessary—‘

‘You paid for the shirts,’ says Potter, and though there’s a faint flush to his skin, his voice is firm. ‘I’m paying for the ice-cream.’

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. ‘Alright,’ he says. ‘Whatever you want.’

Potter grins. ‘Careful,’ he says slyly. ‘I might hold you to that.’

Then he’s up and away, bounding off toward the ice-cream cart on the other side of the food court before Malfoy can even blink.

Malfoy snorts. ‘Now who’s being a flirt?’ he mutters.

She suspects, from the unchanged expression on Hagrid’s face, that he doesn’t hear the comment. He waves he two of them ahead, seeming pleased that they’re having such a good time.

Tonks tilts her head. She follows behind them by a few metres, watching as the Slytherin boy trails after Potter toward the ice-cream cart, his posture still that of a young, pureblood born to money and comfort—used to getting everything he wanted. Still, there’s not that usual arrogance she’s come to associate with pureblooded families.

‘Pistachio?’ he asks when he reaches Potter at the cart. ‘You’re not serious?’

Tonks blinks. Pistachio? Guess she has more in common with Potter than she thought, because that was—

‘It’s not for me,’ says Potter. ‘I can’t stand that flavour. But Tonks likes it.’

She freezes.

Malfoy frowns. ‘What the hell is a Tonks?’

Hagrid, now paying attention to what the boys are talking about, glances around nervously. ‘Erm, not sure yer s’posed to mention tha’ ‘Arry,’ he says.

Potter shrugs. ‘Not like it’ll make her less effective to hang out with us. Besides, it’s got to be boring as hell watching us all day.’

Realising the game is up, Tonks steps up behind them. ‘Wotcher, Harry,’ she says with a smile, automatically changing her hair colour into something far more vibrant than the dull, unnoticeable brown it’s been all day.

Malfoy jumps and swears, sidestepping to get away from her. ‘What the hell?’

Potter grins and nods at her. ‘Hey Tonks.’

She tilts her head. ‘You’re getting better,’ she says. ‘What gave me away?’

Potter shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. ‘Nothing really.’

‘It was the food court wasn’t it?’

Potter grins at her. ‘You’re probably the only person I know who can eat that much food and not pass out.’

She shakes her head. ‘Rookie mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

He chuckles. ‘In all fairness, I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t already been looking for someone following us. I _knew_ Dumbledore would send someone, even though he said he wouldn’t.’

Malfoy shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, you were _following_ us?’

‘Tonks is one of my usuals,’ quips Potter, and throws Tonks a grin. ‘Glad it was you and not Mundungus.’

Tonks wrinkles her nose. ‘Ah, I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s been dropped from the rotation after that incident with the goblets.’

Potter nods.

‘Excuse me,’ interrupts Malfoy. ‘You have a _rotation_ of _stalkers_? This is okay with you?’

Potter blinks at him. ‘There’s not really much I can do about it. Besides, it’s not so bad. Tonks is alright. She’s your cousin.’

‘Cousin?’

Tonks lets her features melt back into their natural position. One that might make her look more recognisable to Malfoy. He blinks, and cocks his head to one side, his brown eyes widening imperceptibly.

‘You’re a metamorphous,’ he says and Tonks thinks she detects a trace of awe.

‘Cool, right?’ says Potter, still grinning.

‘Tonks,’ Malfoy says again, back to frowning. ‘As in Nymphadora?’

‘Er, I wouldn’t call her that if I were you,’ says Potter in a stage whisper, leaning over to Malfoy. ‘Apparently calling her by her first name is what lost Mad-Eye his leg.’

Malfoy raises a dubious eyebrow, until Tonks says, ‘Pinky, actually.’

Hagrid chuckles. ‘She’s a righ’ spitfire this un.’

Tonks grins up at him. ‘Hope you don’t mind my crashing the party.’

‘Course not,’ says Hagrid with a warm smile. ‘Always happy to have more. Though we’re almos’ finished ‘ere anyway. Just the one stop left.’

Tonks shrugs. ‘That’s okay. I’ll tag along anyway. And I’ll take that ice-cream.’

***

Kingsley glances up as she enters the office, giving her a brief nod before refocusing on whatever report he’s working on. ‘Anything to report?’

Tonks grins. ‘Nothing much,’ she says. ‘Except that Harry has one hell of a crush going on.’

Kingsley pauses and frowns up at her. ‘Crush?’ he asks.

She drops into the seat opposite his desk and laughs. ‘Keep up Kingsley,’ she says. ‘He _likes_ someone. You know, as in romantically.’

Kingsley raises an eyebrow at her, before shaking his head and continuing to mark up the report (she wonders briefly whose it is, and hopes it’s not one of hers).‘And this is note-worthy?’

‘It is if you consider who he has the crush _on_ ,’ she says.

She thinks about the souvenir shirts and the framed map that Malfoy hadn’t yet given to Potter by days end. Wistfully, she wishes she could be there to see Potter get it.

‘I have a strong suspicion that the feeling is mutual,’ she adds. ‘I won’t be surprised if Potter bags a boyfriend by Christmas.’

‘And who is the recipient of such emotions?’

Tonk’s grin widens. ‘Draco Malfoy,’ she says with relish. ‘Who knows, maybe Harry and I really will end up relatives.’

Kingsley’s eyes—which hadn’t even blinked at the term “boyfriend”—widen imperceptibly. The man was plain unflappable. ‘Well,’ he says, _finally_ putting down his quill and regarding her fully. ‘That is interesting.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was meant to be a little bit more to this chapter, but I decided to cut it since this was getting long and I was starting to struggle with Tonks' POV. Next chapter we'll find out about the last stop at the Zoo and what their task is for the rest of CoMC.  
> Also, I apologise for any spelling errors, I'm so tired I didn't edit it at all...


	24. Lingering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise. I rewrote this chapter about four times before I was happy with it, which is why it's taken so long for me to post. 
> 
> Also, I'm probably going to stick to once weekly updates for a while as I've recently found out about a health issue that's going to make things a bit difficult for me for the foreseeable future. I'm still churning out chapter summaries though and I'm getting an idea on how to finish this story (still a fair few chapters to go though) so I hope you stick with me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

_Lingering_

 

**_Greg:_ **

There’s an obvious silence around Draco’s bed this morning. Greg’s the only one up early enough to notice, but he knows better than to comment on it. He pretends not to see when Draco emerges, perspiring, shirtless and red faced; and Greg focuses instead on lumbering through his own morning routine as Draco disappears into the bathroom. Greg waits until he hears the shower start, then trots over to Draco’s bed and pulls the curtains Draco has left wide open shut.

Somehow Greg doesn’t think that Draco will want any of the others knowing that he’s been sleeping in the souvenir shirt he got with Potter.

Especially seeing that Blaise has taken to noticing every little thing Draco does now. Not that Blaise notices the things that Greg notices. No one does.

That’s not to say that they can’t. In fact, plenty of his housemates are good at noticing things. Blaise is perhaps the best of them, what with his dark, watchful eyes, his easy smile, and his approachable humour. People like to _talk_ to Blaise. They tell him things. And Blaise hears the things they don’t say. The in between things.

Theo, too, when he isn’t so self-occupied, has a mind sharper and brighter than anyone Greg has met. Not to mention Daphne, with her studious nature.

EvenDraco—though arrogant and spoilt—is good at noticing things.

But none of them have what Greg has. When Blaise or Theo or Daphne or Draco want to find out something, they have to go searching for it. They have to be calculated, plan things out, use every situation to their advantage.

They have to be _Slytherin_.

Because of that, people are more careful around them.

But not Greg.

He thinks he rather likes being underestimated. People think he’s dumb and slow, and maybe he’s not as sharp as his year mates—he certainly can’t read between the lines like Blaise or Theo can, and he’s not any good at double talk like Draco and Pansy are—but he is good at being _quiet_.

Yes, people think he’s big and bulking and stupid, but because of that, they do and say things they would take more care not to do around others. They assume he’s not paying attention, that he’s too _slow_ to notice.

But he does notice.

He notices lots of things.

Like the way Draco disappears out the common room door half an hour before breakfast. Which isn’t all that unusual, except that Potter is waiting on the other side. Greg has a good view from where he’s sitting at the study table, getting in some last minute homework.

Potter, leaning on the wall just outside the door, looks up, and Greg has just enough time to see Potter’s face light up as Draco steps out, to hear Draco’s quiet ‘I told you to _wait_ —’ before the door slams shut behind them.

Greg blinks, then lowers his head and gets back to his homework.

Bit by bit the rest of his house trickles down into the Common Room, but no one seems to notice Draco’s absence. No on, that is, except Blaise, who looks around the common room with a slight frown.

‘He’s gone again?’ Blaise asks as they gather up their things for the day ahead.

Greg shrugs, Theo grunts, and Vince just flat out ignores them—too busy looking for Millicent (who hasn’t yet come up from the girls dorm).

Blaise frowns. He looks at Greg. ‘You were up early this morning, did you see him?’

Greg shrugs again, keeping his face bland. ‘Went somewhere,’ he says in his best dull tone.

Blaise rolls his eyes, but is distracted by the entrance of the girls. Pansy and Tracey are bickering as they approach, and Millicent and Daphne look rather pained.

‘Morning ladies,’ says Blaise, one eyebrow raised in that enquiring way of his that somehow manages to get him the answers to all his questions.

Daphne makes a face. ‘Don’t ask,’ she says, glancing back over her shoulder at Pansy and Tracey. ‘They’ve been at it all bloody morning.’

They head out together. Tracey and Pansy take the lead, their irritation quickening their pace as they walk—their heels clacking against the marble floors.

Theo wanders along behind them, lost in some sort of reverie that no one seems to want to intrude.

Daphne shifts to stand next to Blaise, creating space so that Millicent can naturally fall in next to Vince. This time it’s not just Greg pretending not to notice things. They all are. They wander up through the castle toward the Great Hall, ignoring the situation unfolding between Millicent and Vince. Ignoring the fact that several first and second years trail their group, never allowing the older group to get out of sight.

Every now and then Blaise or Daphne glance back, asking Greg a rather pointless question about homework, but really keeping the younger years within sight. By now it’s tradition. The older years protecting the younger. It’s not like the other houses, where the years can roam freely on their own, confident they won’t be targeted. In Slytherin it was different.

‘Where’s Draco this morning?’ asks Daphne.

At first, Greg is distracted by the question. But then he spies the small book she slips from her pocket to hand to Blaise.

‘Not sure,’ says Blaise. ‘Probably off terrorising some poor firstie. Say, did you finish the homework?’

As Blaise talks, he swipes the book, tucking it into the depths of his robes as if the exchange had never happened. Greg keeps his face impassive in case either of them look back at him again.

‘Hm, almost,’ says Daphne, not asking to clarify _what_ homework Blaise is referring too. ‘I’m having trouble with the conclusion.’

‘Ah,’ says Blaise. ‘Well, if you need another perspective, I can always take a look at your notes.’

‘That’s alright,’ says Daphne. ‘I think the fewer eyes involved the better. I wouldn’t want my judgement to get clouded.’

Blaise nods, but his shoulders are tense and Greg understands why. He understands that they aren’t really talking about homework. They’re talking about Theo. They’re talking about the letters Theo’s father is still sending him. The letters that have put Theo in this mood. The letters Blaise secretly made copies off, slipping into his Mother’s Grimoire to pass on to Daphne.

Greg isn’t sure what the pair plan to do about those letters, only that—if Blaise’s family Grimoire is involved—that they plan to do _something_. Greg doesn’t blame them. He wants to do something about it too.

‘So,’ Daphne asks. ‘Any new developments with the Potter situation?’

Blaise’s shoulders relax and he affects a casual tone. ‘Potter situation?’

Daphne rolls her eyes. ‘Please. Half the year knows about your bet with Granger.’

She’s right there. Even Greg knows about it. Though, that’s because Blaise left his betting book lying around again and Greg happened to see it when he was tidying up the dorm room (as usual he was the only one who cared about their weekly inspections).

‘Do you _really_ think they’re friends?’ asks Daphne, turning her head to look at Blaise, staring at him with those serious blue eyes.

Blaise tilts his head. ‘Well, they _are_ spending an inordinate amount of time together.’

‘Not through choice.’ Theo glances back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Blaise.

His interruption of their conversation—and the obvious fact that he’d been listening—was exactly the reason Daphne and Blaise had been talking in code not moments before.

‘Maybe not,’ Blaise says. ‘But they’re being pretty damn civil about it.’

‘What’s Granger’s part in all of this?’ asks Daphne.

Blaise snorts. ‘ _She_ thinks that Draco is considering Bird Watching.’

Daphne frowns. ‘Bird watching? What…oh, _oh_. Hang on, _really_?’

Blaise grins. ‘That’s what I said. There’s no _way_. Draco is a Malfoy. He’s a snake through and through. There are no birds in his future.’

Theo snorts. ’And yet you think he’s becoming friends with the biggest bird of them all.’

It takes Greg a moment to figure out what the hell they’re talking about. After all, Potter is a Gryffindor, not a Ravenclaw. But it’s not until they’re settling themselves at Slytherin table that a flash of colour at the head table catches his eye. Dumbledore, in a pair of bright orange robes, that are somewhat reminiscent of the Phoenix that lives in…something in Greg’s brain clicks and he realises that Daphne and Blaise were talking about the Order. The opposite side. Greg pauses with the jug of juice halfway to his glass.

‘Alright there Greg?’ asks Blaise, smirking in amusement.

Greg shakes himself and gives Blaise a brief nod. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Just thinking.’

‘That’s a first,’ says Pansy, dropping into a seat across from him.

Greg glowers at her. He contemplates throwing a stinging hex her way, but he’s still thinking about the fact that Granger thinks Draco is switching sides.

He thinks about that for a moment.

Could she be right?

Well, _none_ of them were right, Greg is sure. But still, with what he knows—what he’s _noticed_ —really, it’s only a matter of time before one of them _does_ switch.

He thinks about that.About the way Draco and Potter watch each other every meal time. The quiet way they talk in class, sitting _just_ close enough for hands to brush against each other, for their shoulders to touch, for their legs to press together. They way they wander off to Care of Magical Creatures, bickering relentlessly until they’re out of ear shot and then dropping into casual conversation, their postures relaxing as they head the rest of the way down to the forest—looking completely at ease with each other. The way they linger there after class, leaning on the fence of the Thestral paddock, talking where they think no one can see them. The way Potter waits for Draco out front of Slytherin common room each morning, eager to slip away where no one will see them.

Draco arrives at the breakfast table, breaking Greg out of his thoughts.

‘Hey,’ Draco says to no one in particular, and reaches for the coffee.

‘Where have _you_ been?’ Pansy asks, turning on him in an instant.

Draco rolls his eyes, and the expression is almost flawless. ‘ _Potter_ ,’ he says, spitting out the word with a little too much force. ‘Almost destroyed our muggle studies assignment. I had to spend my entire morning fixing it. Honestly, that idiot is supposed to be the saviour of the wizarding world? He couldn’t save a bloody fish from drowning.’

‘Do fish drown?’ asks Vince, and sniggers erupt around the table.

Theo throws Blaise a pointed look and Blaise rolls his eyes.

Greg, however, is watching Draco. He sees it because he knows what to look for. The faint flush up the back of Draco’s neck. The way his collar is pulled up tight around his neck, but his shirt is untucked.

Blaise, of course, doesn’t see these things. Because he hasn’t known Draco as long as Greg has. Hell they’ve barely been friends until this year. He doesn’t know what to look for. But Greg does. He’s seen Draco flirt. He’s seen Draco on a conquest. But this? This is different. This is _wanting_. And if there’s one thing Greg knows about Draco, it’s that he always gets what he wants.

The question is, what will he do if someone else (someone like the Dark Lord) wants what he has more? What’s more, what will it do to Slytherin if Granger ends up _right_?


	25. Freefall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little excited about this chapter, and seeing as I made you wait so long for the last one I thought I’d post it early.
> 
> Next chapter is almost finished, and definitely kicks up the fluffy level.

Chapter Twenty-Five

_Freefall_

 

_**Ginny:** _

The air whistles by her ears as she flattens herself against her broom, half rolling as she ducks and weaves through the oppositions defences.

Somewhere from her left there’s a shout, and a _thwack_ as a bludger is sent careening in her direction. She dips the nose of her broom down, hears a loud whistle or air skate across her head, and resumes her rush at the goals.

Blaise Zabini is guarding the goal posts. He winks at her. She shoots his a wicked grin, rolls to her left and, with a deft flick of her wrist combined with a sudden sharp turn, she smacks the tail end of her broom into the quaffle, sending it spinning off to the right end of the goals—where Zabini isn’t guarding.

It goes through. She smirks, sending Zabini a return wink. He shakes his head, but offers her an impressed smile. The score lights up 80-40 to Gryffindor. The crowds are cheering—most of the stands in favour of Gryffindor—and somewhere above her she hears Harry’s familiar whoop of delight.

She looks for him as she returns to her place, adrenaline rushing in her ears, and finds him several metres above the game—his usual go to when observing for the snitch. He waves at her, but by the time she’s waved back, Malfoy is there.

Harry’s gaze shifts, his grin never fading as he retorts to something Malfoy has just said. Malfoy just shakes his head, his own smirk firmly in place as he leans forward.

Despite what she knows, it’s still bizarre to see them like this. Casually chatting above a game of Quidditch, each as relaxed as the other. That relaxation filters down into the rest of them. For the first Slytherin versus Gryffindor match, there’s been far less aggression than there usually is.

Ginny isn’t sure how many of the other players have noticed Harry and Malfoy’s casual bickering high above the game, interspersed with the occasional boutof areal acrobatics.

So far the snitch has remained elusive, but the boys dart through the game every now and then, throwing the rest of the players into chaos and laughing all the while, spreading a sense of calm and enjoyment through the field.

Ginny and her fellow chasers race back and forth between the goal posts.

‘Keep it up Gin!’ Ron shouts after she scores her third goal, pumping his arm to cheer her on, and Ginny feels a glow of pride.

A glow that only bubbles further to life as Ron defends two quaffle throws in a row. He grins wide and calls out to the Slytherin chasers,

‘Nice try mate, but you’ll have to hit harder than that!’

‘Just you wait til the next round Weasley!’

And Ginny marvels at the lighthearted banter that flows between the players that, only a year before, would’ve been at each other’s throats.

The snitch flickers up passed her face, darting across the sky and she spins, almost giving chase but catching herself just in time. She glances up, sees Harry and Malfoy’s heads swivel in her direction at the same time, and in a flash they’re both flattened over their brooms making chase.

Out of the corner of her eye Ginny sees a Slytherin chaser make a break for Gryffindor goals. She stops watching Harry and Malfoy dipping and diving through the sky and races off to guard her end of the pitch.

Out of no where, Harry shoots across Ginny’s path.

‘Sorry!’ he shouts, the words whipping away from him as he twists sharply to the left and dives hard after a flash of gold.

Ginny shakes her head, watching as Malfoy comes up from below, attempting to cut Harry off. He calls something—she can hear his voice but not the words—and Harry laughs in response, doing a quick spin mid dive, almost in reply to whatever Malfoy said. The snitch changes course, rocketing skyward.

Harry, mid-roll, throws his broom around, spinning in a dizzying 180 turn and racing off after the snitch. Malfoy curses, flicks his broom sideways and makes chase.

That, of course, is when it all goes to hell.

Conner hits a bludger from below, aiming for the Slytherin with the Quaffle, who dodges just in time to avoid getting a broken leg, and the bludger shoots passed, high up into the air.

It curves upwards and out. Straight toward Harry and Malfoy, looping back around in their chase of the Snitch. It’s too close and too far. It’s too close to the boys for any of them to do anything. Too far for Ginny’s shout of warning to make any difference.

Malfoy has swooped up and around, while Harry carves a soft curve through the sky from below. He’s laughing, and Malfoy glances down at him, but his smile vanishes. His eyes go wide. He throws out a hand. Turns his broom hard right and down, straight into Harry, shoving them both into a roll just as the bludger reaches them.

 _Crack_!

They go tumbling. One over the other, a mess of limbs and broomsticks and Ginny can’t tell whose been hit or where; only that—from the sound of that bone-breaking crack—one of them has.

She flattens herself on her broom. On the other side of the pitch, two beaters—one from Slytherin and one from Gryffindor—push their brooms to the limit. But none of them are going to get there in time. Ginny throws her weight into her broom and wishes Fred and George were still here. She tries to judge where they’re going to fall, but she’s never been very good at predicting trajectory of a falling body.

Harry and Malfoy become untangled. Harry’s eyes are open, and a surge of relief rushes through Ginny when she realises he’s still conscious, that he hasn’t been hit—a relief that is swallowed up by fear when she sees his broom tumble away from him. He twists in the air, arms outstretched, searching. His fingers brush the handle, once, twice, three times. On the forth, his hand locks around the broom.

He gets it under him, but instead of stopping, instead pulling up out of the nose dive he’s in, he flattens himself and rockets downwards.

‘Draco!’

But Malfoy doesn’t hear him.

Ginny and the Beaters are still too far away. Harry is pelting toward the ground, pushing his firebolt as fast as it will go, but it’s not fast enough. Flailing through the air trying to catch his broom had slowed his fall. Unlike Malfoy. Malfoy, who was just dead weight in the air.

‘ _Draco_!’

Harry’s shout is desperate and scared and Ginny’s heart is in her throat, but she’s still racing toward them, still trying to get there in time.

Harry reaches out.

They’re so close to the ground. Malfoy is falling head first, Harry’s hand brushes Malfoy’s leg but it’s not enough to grab hold. They’re going to hit the ground, they’re going to—

‘ _No_!’

Light, blinding and white, erupts in front of her and Ginny cries out, pulling up to a stop. In the absence of the wind there’s a sudden quiet. So she hears the splash that follows the blinding flash.

Splash?

She opens her eyes and her jaw drops.

The pitch, the _entire_ pitch, has been transformed into a lake.

Harry, still pointed at the ground—the water—tumbles away from his broom, his eyes rolling back, to fall into the water with a soft splash.

‘What the hell?’ says Peakes—the Gryffindor beater—staring down at the water in shock.

They’re all in shock. The rest of their teams—in various stages of pursuit—staring down at the now lapping water. The water Harry and Malfoy have sunk into.

Ginny’s adrenaline spikes up another notch as she watches Harry sink into the water. Without thinking, she slips sideways off her broom.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Peakes yells at her and she hangs by her hands off her broom, her feet brushing the water.

‘They aren’t conscious!’ she takes a deep breath—not knowing how deep the water is—and drops into the water.

Cold slams into her, and it’s all she can do to keep hold of the breath in her chest. She can taste salt on her lips, but she braces herself and opens her eyes. They burn instantly, but she squints against the salt water and sees Harry floating in the water just feet from her, his heavy quidditch gear dragging him down.

She grabs at his arms and, her lungs burning already, kicks madly for the surface.

Her head breaks through the water with a gasp, and she pulls on Harry, struggling to draw his sodden weight up from the water.

‘Weasley!’ It’s Goyle, his arm outstretched as he hovers just above the water. ‘Give ‘im here.’

Taking another deep breath, Ginny braces herself and pushes up, pulling Harry as far up out of the water as she can manage, shoving herself down beneath the surface in the process.

All at once, Harry’s weight is pulled free, and she comes up spluttering. Goyle, with Peakes’ help, has hauled Harry out of the water, and already the two are peeling away toward the stands.

There’s another splash to her left. Zabini’s head breaks the water, shaking his hair out of his face as he gets his bearings.

‘Over here,’ says Ginny, paddling to the spot where she can still see Malfoy. ‘Careful, the water stings.’

Without waiting for Zabini to reply, she takes a breath and ducks back under the water.

Malfoy is heavier than Harry, but he’s also been in the water longer and the adrenaline racing through Ginny’s veins helps her reach for strength she doesn’t have.

Her lungs are burning, her capacity for holding her breath has never been very good. She’s going to have to let go. She needs air. But she’s scared. If she needs air…she twists in the water, turning to face Malfoy, she holds his face in her hands and—unsure if it’ll work—presses her lips against his, blowing what little air she has into his mouth.

She doesn’t know if it’ll work, but she desperately needs to breathe. She lets him go.

Zabini passes her as she kicks for the surface, and a pinprick of relief assuages her guilt. Gasping at the air, she sees another hand reaching out.

‘Ginny!’

She coughs, shaking her head. ‘Not yet,’ she rasps, and turns to dive back under.

She meets Zabini just below the surface, grabbing at Malfoy’s free arm to help pull him up. With two of them, it’s much easier, and they break the surface a moment later.

‘Take him,’ she gasps, barely able to keep herself out of the water.

As she blinks away the salt water, tears helping to clear away the awful sting in her eyes, she sees that it’s Ron and Katie who have Malfoy. Ron glances back over his shoulder at her, worry in his face, and she pulls a tired arm out of the water to wave at him, trying to reassure him that she’s okay.

In truth, she’s so tired she’s not sure how much longer she can keep treading water. She’s not had a lot of experience with swimming, and the task is harder than she’d thought.

‘Here,’ says Zabini, reaching out for her. ‘Hold on to me.’

‘I’m fine,’ she says.

She squints around the pitch, searching for a place she can swim to and get the hell out of the water.

Zabini sighs. ’No, you’re not,’ he says, and grabs at her arm.

At first she resists him, but her gear is weighing her down, and she really is exhausted though they haven’t been in the water that long. Zabini turns in the water, looping her arm over his shoulder and around his neck, so that she’s pressed against his back.

‘Gin!’ Dean is racing toward them.

He’s gotten an extra broom from somewhere, and he draws to a stop above them and holds out the spare broom.

‘Can you reach up?’ he calls.

She stares up at the broom. Her arms feel heavy just at the prospect, but Zabini shrugs his shoulders, glancing over at her over his shoulder.

‘C’mon Weasley,’ he says, flashing her a grin. ‘You’re not gonna let one more push get the best of you, are you?’

Irritation spikes. Along with determination. In response, she braces her arms on his shoulders and uses him to push up out of the water. Surprise lights his face. Right before he’s dunked under the water.

The push is all she needs. She reaches up and latches onto the broom. Dean holds it steady, making sure she doesn’t drag it back down into the water with her. She tries not to groan, but she gets her other arm over the broom and somehow, somehow, manages to clamber back on the broom.

Zabini sputters beneath her, and she shoots him a tired grin, offering him a hand as he brushes water out of his face.

‘I’ll get him, Gin, you get to the stands,’ says Dean, shifting his broom into her path.

She’s too tired to protest. Leaving them to it, she turns her broom and searches for a place to land. By the time she gets to the stands, Harry and Malfoy are already gone.

‘Ginny? You okay?’ asks Ron, hurrying over to her as she all but topples onto the platform.

‘Yeah,’ she pants. ‘Are they?’

Worry flashes over his face. ‘I dunno,’ he says, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘They’ve gone to the Hospital Wing.’

‘Were they at least breathing?’

Ron nods. He frowns at her, pulls out his wand and contours a thick blanket, wrapping her up in it.

‘Gin,’ he says, and he’s looking out over the lake that now encompasses the entire pitch. ‘What the hell happened out there? What happened to the pitch?’

She shakes her head. All she can think to say is, ‘it was Harry.’

‘Harry…did this?’

‘Yeah,’ she says.

‘That’s insane.’

She looks out at the water, thinks about how deep that water was that she couldn’t even touch the ground. ‘Yeah,’ she says.

‘Why?’ asks Ron, looking back at her in complete bafflement.

She looks at him. At her brother. Best friend to the boy who lived.

She thinks about the last time they were at odds, and how absolutely, pig-headed and stubborn he was. She can’t fathom how he’ll react. She doens’t know how to tell him.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ says Zabini, dragging himself off the back of Dean’s broom with a tired smile. ‘He did it to save Draco.’


	26. Pain and Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been on a bit of a roll this week. Normally I'd hold off on posting, but I was excited about this chapter too, so I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Twenty-Six

_Pain and Warmth_

 

**_Draco:_ **

_Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom._

His heartbeat pounds in his head. Reverberating through his skull at a deafening level, building heavy pressure behind his eyes. He shifts, the pain throbbing along every surface of his brain. Merlin he hurts. Why the _fuck_ does he hurt? He tries to remember, but that only results in more pain.

He whimpers and rolls onto his side. His senses try to orient themselves. Voices echo, but the relentless rush of blood in his ears makes it hard to focus.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to push away the pain.

The voices rise, competing with the pounding in his head. Fragments of conversation assault him as he swims in and out of the darkness at the edges of his consciousness. God, he wished they would all shut the fuck up.

‘—to know what happened.’

‘You will do no such thing! He has a head wound, Albus, he’s hardly fit—’

His mind tries to identify the familiar voices, but the steady _thump, thump_ in his brain overwhelms every other thought. For a moment everything goes dark.

‘—make a replenishing potions. At least then we’ll know if he can even cast—’

‘—lucky to be alive. It might take days for Potter to even wake—’

‘—really think it was so much?’

‘—expended his _entire_ magical core. It’ll be a miracle if—‘

Somewhere in the back of Draco’s mind alarm bells are ringing. They’re talking about Potter. They’re not supposed to be talking about Potter. Potter is supposed to be fine.

But why? Why does everything feel so wrong? And why does his bloody head hurt so fucking much?

He groans again.

A cool touch to his head has him squinting open his eyes.

‘How is your head?’ asks Madam Pomfrey.

He squeezes his eyes shut again. ‘Hurts,’ he says, his voice croaking.

‘Yes, I imagine it does,’ she says, and gently presses onto his shoulder in a motion designed to make him roll onto his back.

Reluctant, he does so, uncurling from the position he’s been screwed up in. Once he’s straight, she taps on his shoulder, slipping her hand behind him to help him sit up. She has a cup of foul smelling liquid in her other hand.

He wrinkles his nose, but takes it, leaning back on one arm as he downs the drink in one gulp. It’s not as bad as it smells, but it’s by no means something he ever wants to drink again.

‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Draco Malfoy,’ he says, handing her back the cup.

‘What’s the last thing you remember?’

‘You, arguing with the Headmaster,’ he says, frowning as he glances around the room and sees no sign of the man. ‘But before that, I was playing quidditch. Is it…what day is it?’

She nods but ignores his question, casting two quick spells. Irritation shoots up his spine and he’s about to ask his question again when he notices how tired she looks. Draco is no stranger to the hospital wing, particularly in the last two months, and yet he can recall _ever_ seeing the Medi-Witch look tired before. Her hair falls in wisps out of it’s customary bun, her shoulders are tense, and she holds herself with a strained kind of exhaustion.

She looks at him with drawn eyes. ‘How do you feel?’ she asks.

Her tone is such a stark contrast to the tiredness clinging to her, that he’s momentarily thrown. ‘Like I just got hit in the head by a bludger,’ he says, voice deadpan.

Her lips twitch and she straightens. ‘Well, at least your sarcasm didn’t suffer any injury,’ she says, and crosses her arms. ‘The pain should ease somewhat now with the potion. Stay in bed until I say otherwise, but let me know if you feel any lingering pain. Oh, and it’s still Thursday,’ she adds with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘You were only out a few hours.’

She turns, and Draco expects her to clack away back to her office, but instead she only takes three steps, stopping at the next bed over.

The bed where Potter is laying.

Draco’s body goes cold and still, the pounding in his head dying away to nothing (whether due to the potion or his shock, he doesn’t know). Without thinking, he swings his legs off the bed and follows Pomfrey, eyes fixed to the prone body on the other bed.

Potter is pale. Except it’s not a pale like Draco is pale, but a ghostly, sickly pale, his skin tinged in grey. Shadows carve deep grooves under his eyes, his cheeks gaunt and hollowed, as if—and Draco’s gut clenches—all the life has been sucked out of him.

‘What…what happened?’

She glances at him, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. ‘Didn’t I just tell you to stay in bed?’ she says, a statement rather than a question and it’s an indication of her level of exhaustion that she didn’t even notice him follow her.

‘What happened to him?’ Draco asks again, more forcefully, his fists clenching at his sides. ‘He didn’t get hit. He can’t have got hit. Besides that wouldn’t have…he wouldn’t be…How…?’

Dizziness assaults his vision and Potter blurs before him. He sways and a hand steadies him—though it’s not Pomfrey.

‘Severus,’ says Pomfrey, turning to look at the man. ‘Did you finish the potion?’

He hands her a large, glass potion flask, the liquid inside a shimmering blue, and Pomfrey takes it with small sigh of what Draco suspects is relief.

‘Albus is on his way,’ says Severus, and turns to Draco, his hand tightening on Draco’s shoulder. ‘Back to bed, Malfoy.’

‘I’m fine,’ says Draco, shrugging him off. ‘What happened to Potter?’

There’s a tense silence while Pomfrey turns her attention back to Potter, leaving Severus to deal with Draco. He bristles, annoyed that his question is once again being annoyed.

‘Potter will be fine, but you won’t be if you don’t get back into bed.’

Draco catches the expression of worry and doubt that flashes across Pomfrey’s face at Severus’ words. She spells Potter into a sitting position and tilts his head back, pouring the shimmering blue liquid down his throat with slow carefulness.

Draco watches, unable to look away, unable to stop seeing how thin Potter looks like this. How small. How vulnerable.

Fury swells in his gut. He doesn’t want to see this. Potter isn’t supposed to be weak. Potter is supposed to be…

‘Draco,’ says Severus again.

‘Pomfrey already said I’m fine,’ Draco snaps. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Head injuries are serious. Even for wizards. Just because you’re fine at the moment doesn’t mean you aren’t still at risk of permanent damage. Get back into bed. I won’t tell you again.’

Draco scowls, but the dizziness takes hold of him again. ‘Why…Why won’t you just tell me what the hell is wrong with him?’ he asks, frowning as he tries to stop the world from spinning.

‘Mr Potter is suffering from magical exhaustion.’ The headmaster’s voice is as calm and gentle as ever and yet they send Draco’s vision into a spin.

He swallows. He remembers the time Pansy accidentally summoned an entire magazine’s worth of clothes just before her ninth birthday and how she’d spent all week in bed. How frail it had made her—Pansy, so loud and ferocious, constrained to a bed, barely able to lift her own head.

‘How bad is it?’ he asks, his vision clouding over.

‘Well,’ says Dumbledore, moving further into the room. ‘The situation is certainly not ideal. But Hogwarts has one of the finest Potions Masters in all of Britain and, if I do say so myself, a rather talented media-witch.’

Draco’s vision clears just in time to see Pomfrey shoot Albus a dark look. She lowers Potter back onto the bed, adjusts his blankets and then turns to glower at the Headmaster.

‘He’s had the potion,’ she says. ‘You’ll just have to wait until he wakes now.’

‘Surely if you—’

‘I won’t wake him too soon, Albus. I mean it,’ she says, and suddenly she doesn’t look tired anymore. She looks fierce and determined and _furious_. ‘I won’t risk his life just so you can find out if he can still use magic. You can just wait.’

Draco’s stomach bottoms out and he sits down hard on the edge of his bed. ’He…could die?’

They all look at him. Pomfrey’s expression shifts, as if just remembering that he’s in the room.

‘Of course not, my dear boy,’ says Albus, smiling benignly at him. ‘Madam Pomfrey is just being diligent, as is her duty. She’s quite right. Harry should get all the rest he can before he wakes. Better for his recovery that way. You’ll let me know when he wakes of course?’

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips. ‘Of course,’ she says.

The headmaster nods, apparently not noticing (or ignoring) the thick sarcasm in Madam Pomfrey’s voice.

‘A word, Severus?’ Dumbledore says, and the two men (Severus giving Draco a worried glance) leave the room.

Madam Pomfrey huffs. ‘Honestly,’ she says, flicking her wand and Draco. ’That man is utterly insufferable.’

Draco’s body flops back onto the bed against his will, the blankets flying out of the way before encasing him again the moment his back hits the mattress, tucking themselves in at the edges so that he feels pinned down. He starts to protest, but Pomfrey points her wand at him, remnants of her anger surging through her gaze.

‘Here,’ she says, fishing a potion from the various pockets in her robes. ‘Drink this.’ She tips the potion gently down his throat and too late he realises what it is.

A deep heaviness washes over him, relaxing his muscles, making his eyes droop. ‘You…you drugged me,’ he says accusingly.

He tries for a half hearted glare, but Madam Pomfrey only raises her eyebrows.

‘You need to rest,’ she says simply and—with one last look at Potter—she storms from the room.

Draco looks over at Potter, still prone and unmoving on his own bed, and frowns. What did he _do_?

‘You better not die, Potter,’ he murmurs into the eerie quiet of the large room.

Before dreamlessness can consume him memories go crashing through his brain. The match. Flying through the air. Potter laughing. The bludger, heading straight for them. Shock, fear, realisation. It’s going to hit them. It’s going to hit _Potter_. Desperation. Instinct. _Pain._ Nothing.

‘Draco?’

His eyes flash open. Green eyes stare back at him.

‘Potter? You’re awake.’

Potter’s face twitches. The briefest flash of exasperation crossing his features before being swallowed up by the sheer exhaustion still clinging to his body.

‘I heard your voice,’ he murmurs.

‘You woke up because you heard my voice?’ Draco asks.

Later, much later (when his brain isn’t clouded by the fog of a potion trying to drag him to sleep) he’ll marvel at the implication of that comment.

‘Yes,’ says Potter, his voice even softer. Sleepy. He closes his eyes and whispers. ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’

‘Stupid,’ says Draco, his voice thick. ‘That’s my line.’

A faint smile twitches onto Potter’s face, but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears.

‘ _Are_ you?’ Draco asks. ‘Okay?’

‘I’m tired,’ says Potter. ‘And Cold.’

Draco frowns. Potter is already slipping back into the depths of his exhaustion. Worry niggles at Draco, but he brushes it away. This is not the “waking up” that the headmaster was looking for. He’s not ready yet. He’s _clearly_ not ready yet. No, this is something else. Something just for Draco.

With a sluggish glance toward Madam Pomfrey’s quarters, Draco pulls the covers free. His limbs are heavy and his mind is starting to cloud over as he attempts to fight off the sleeping draught.

‘One step after the other,’ he mumbles, dragging himself and all his bed covers over to Potter’s bed.

Predictably he trips over the trailing blankets and slams into the edge of Potter’s bed.

He groans. ‘Stupid saviour,’ he grumbles into Potter’s arm. ‘Stupid Gryffindor’s and their stupid lack of self preservation. Should just let you freeze.’

Potter shifts, eyes flickering open again.

‘What’re you doing?’

‘Hush,’ says Draco.

Somehow he manages to hook his foot around one of the visitor chairs sitting against the wall. He pulls it toward him and falls in. In a slow, clumsy motion that takes far too much of his energy, he swoops his blankets around so that they manage cover him sitting in his chair, and Potter curled up on the edge of the bed. The last of his energy seeps away from him and his head drops back onto Potter’s arm. Darkness clouds his mind and, though somewhere at the back of his mind—very far at the back—his brain is telling him that this is a _bad_ idea, all he can think about is how surprisingly comfortable he is.

Just before the darkness swoops in, he hears Potter make a soft noice of contentment. A hand slips into his and then, warmth spreading through him, Draco is asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who is your favourite POV so far? Who would you like to see that we haven't had yet?


	27. The Morning After

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 _The_ _Morning_ _After_

 

 _ **Madam** **Pomfrey** **:**_

Poppy is a patient woman. After all, she’s worked with Albus Dumbledore for over twenty years, and Merlin knows that man can test the patience of any sane witch or wizard that is forced to spend prolonged periods of time in his presence.

Still, she has managed so far. Dealing with Werewolves, underage Animagus’, Basilisk attacks, dementers, ridiculous tournaments, and various Quidditch and Potions related mishaps. No matter the hurdle, no matter the injury (far more, she might add, than any school has a right to have), she handles it with a calm expertise that only came from living through a war.

Yet, all of that comes to naught in the face of one Harry James Potter.

Poppy sighs, pushing aside the heavy tome in front of her and flicking through Potter’s file yet again. It’s a thick file. Thicker than any other student she’s treated in the twenty odd years she’s worked at Hogwarts (a decent feat considering she’s had a young werewolf in her care). From his very first year, Harry Potter has had a penchant for getting himself into trouble. Even so, none of the previous years compare to the extensive notes she’s written over the last several months. The injuries from before the start of school term. The panic attacks. The magic fluctuations. And now this—extreme magical exhaustion.

Suspicions form in her mind, sifting through the recent events, the things she’s heard, making connections that seem absurd and unlikely, and yet—her gaze flicks to the book she’s just pushed aside—more and more troubling.

Most wizards who use as much magic as Potter has just done end up in comas. At worst, without magical intervention, the physical strain is enough to cause organ damage. Tainted livers. Ruptured spleens. Heart failure.

As it is Poppy spent the entire afternoon after the incident repairing damage to Potter’s lungs and kidney and getting him out of danger. He’s still sleeping, not unexpected considering how drained he was, yet worry still niggles at her mind.

She shakes her head and leans back in her seat. ‘That boy has as many lives as a cat,’ she mutters.

‘A cat?’ says a voice from behind her. ‘I believe he’s far exceeded a cat’s lives by now.’

Poppy smiles and turns to regard Minerva with a raised brow. ‘Speaking from experience, are you?’

Minerva merely twitches her lips into a sardonic smile as she steps the rest of the way out of the fireplace. ‘How is he?’

Poppy sighs and glances back at her file. How was she supposed to answer that question? She wants to tell Minerva what’s on her mind. After all, Minerva is not only a respected colleague, but her friend. They’ve worked together over twenty years, and there is no one else whose opinion Poppy valued more (not to mention the fact that—being Potter’s head of house—there was no one better suited to give Poppy input on Potter). And yet, patient confidentiality prevented her from discussing anything regarding Potter’s situation with anyone except the Headmaster—and quite frankly, with the state of Albus’ own health, Poppy doesn’t see him as a viable option. She resists the urge to sigh.

‘Much better since the phoenix tears,’ she says. ‘His core is stable. I’m…fairly confident he’ll still have use of his magic.’

Minerva frowns. ‘Yet you’re still worried,’ she observes.

This time Poppy does sigh. ‘Yes,’ she says simply. ‘I don’t think this is the end of it.’

Minerva’s frown deepens. ‘You think there will be lingering effects?’

’N-o,’ says Poppy slowly. ‘I think…oh, to hell with it. To be quite frank, I think this display of magic was caused by something else. An underlying condition.’

Minerva raises her eyebrows. Her gaze flicks almost subconsciously to Poppy’s desk, drawn—no doubt—by Potter’s file. It’s there that she catches sight of the large book on the edge of Poppy’s desk.

Understanding flashes across her face. Understanding…and horror.

‘You don’t think…’ Minerva trails off, sharp eyes fixing back on Poppy. ‘Surely not. That disease is just about unheard of. Has there even been a record of it since Morgana Le Fay herself?’

‘Yes, actually’ says Poppy. ‘Seven recorded cases. And only two in magical Britain.’

‘Heavens,’ says Minerva, and she turns slightly, looking out toward the main wing of the Hospital, though she cannot see Potter from this vantage point. ‘Have you told him?’

‘No,’ says Poppy in a quiet voice. ‘When I first started to suspect, I was sure I was simply overreacting. Seeing something that wasn’t there.’

‘And now? You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

For a moment, Minerva looks lost. The lines in her face deepen. The weariness about her frame doubles. She looks older. Tired. Defeated.

Poppy understands. They had been teachers together at Hogwarts for many years. They’d seen hundreds of students come and go, and of them all, many were already dead. Many passed before their time, due to the whims of a madman; and now they were facing the same situation. How many more young, bright lives would be extinguished before their eyes?

Then Minerva straightens, strength surging back through her eyes. ‘Alright,’ she says. ‘What do you need me to do?’

Some of the worry eases away, replaced by a faint glow of relief. Poppy smiles.

‘Well,’ she says. ‘I still have to administer the morning potions, if you’d like to help with that?’

Minerva tilts her head and follows her out into the main wing. The room is quiet and cool, and Poppy expects to find her charges still asleep. Previous experience with Potter has indicated that he doesn’t sleep well, and she’s made sure to include dreamless sleeping potions in his retinue of potions in all visits since the previous year.

Her footsteps trail off, however, (Minerva’s faltering just a step behind her) when she sees the two boys.

She reaches the edge of the one empty bed, and the one full one. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, annoyed at herself for forgetting about Potter’s crush, annoyed for not considering that it might be reciprocated. She makes a mental note to ensure wards are placed around their beds from now on.

‘Well,’ says Minerva, regarding the two boys in baffled amusement. ‘This was unexpected.’

The pile of tangled blankets and limbs twitches, and Poppy coughs expectantly, drawing the attention of one of the two sleeping boys.

Malfoy, half sitting in a chair and half sprawled on the side of Potter’s bed, shifts, and lifts his head from where it rests on Potter’s arms.

He groans, rolling his head this way and that, no doubt stretching the discomfort out of his neck after sleeping hunched over all night.

Then he catches sight of Poppy and Minerva.

He jerks upright into a sitting position, staring at them in wide-eyed horror. He yanks his hand (which Poppy now sees is curled around one of Potter’s) free and scrambles to his feet, almost tripping over the blankets pooled at his feet.

‘I wasn’t—this isn’t—I mean…Potter was having a nightmare…’ he trails off, his cheeks going crimson as he realises that this explanation is still rather out of character for him.

Poppy ignores it, her eyes going to Potter with a frown. ‘When did he have the nightmare?’ she asks. ‘Did he wake up?’

Potter rolls in his sleep, curling up further now that Malfoy has gone.

Malfoy’s gaze flicks back and forth between Minerva and Poppy, wary and still mortified. ‘For a moment,’ he says eventually.

Poppy flicks her wand at Potter, casting various standard diagnostic spells as Malfoy and Minerva watch on. Malfoy, apparently deciding that he’s not at risk of being admonished or tormented about the situation, sits on the edge of his bed.

‘He’s…okay. Isn’t he?’ he asks.

Poppy can feel another headache coming on. Minerva is watching her, gaze sharp and curious, no doubt surprised by Poppy’s lack of surprise. Curious about what she knows. Suddenly Poppy regrets inviting the woman along.

She sighs and starts to answer, except Potter begins to stir. She fishes a potion out of her pocket and hands it to Malfoy.

‘Drink,’ she says, before focusing on Potter.

He’s blinking up at the ceiling, a faint frown on his face. ‘Hospital…’ he mutters.

He turns his head, glancing around and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He sees Poppy and Minerva, but when he spots Malfoy, he goes still.

‘Draco,’ he says.

Malfoy (who has yet to drink his potion) glances up, something like relief in his eyes. ‘Potter,’ he says briskly.

Potter smiles. ‘You’re okay.’

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ‘Yes, of course I’m okay. We did this bit already.’

‘We did?’ Potter asks.

Malfoy, glancing at Minerva and Poppy, flushes and says shortly. ‘Yes. Idiot.’

Potter’s smile widens. He turns to Poppy.

‘So, what am I in for this time?’ he asks, and though he sounds tired, there’s a brightness to his tone that Poppy finds encouraging. ‘And for how long?’

‘As long as I deem necessary,’ she says tartly. ‘It’s a miracle you’re already up. Honestly, transforming the pitch into a lake, what in Merlin’s name were you thinking?’

Potter blinks. ‘Transforming what?’ he stares at her, frowning, no doubt trying to recall the incident that put him in the Hospital. ‘Oh. Oh…well…I guess that explains why I feel like I just got run over by a train.’

Behind her, Minerva mutters something about Potters and understanding limitations under her breath.

‘You think?’ Malfoy says, the contempt in his voice not quite covering up the worry. ‘Actually, I take that back, because clearly you don’t think.’

Potter mumbles something incoherent and ducks his head.

‘What was that?’ asks Malfoy.

Potter sighs, shrugs, and runs a hand through his hair. ‘I said “someone had to do something.”’

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ‘And of course it had to be you, didn’t it? Always the hero.’

Potter frowns.

‘You might want to take into consideration that Potter’s actions saved your life,’ says Minerva tartly.

Poppy glances back at her, eyebrows raised, but refrains from pointing out the obvious. She doesn’t need to.

Malfoy scoffs. ‘Right. And he almost killed himself in the process. There were a thousand other things he could’ve done, that anyone could’ve done, without that ridiculous power display.’

‘It’s not like I did it on purpose,’ Potter says to the floor. ‘There wasn’t really time to think. Your head was about to crack open on the ground and all.’

‘So? You could’ve levitated me—‘

‘There was no guarantee that I’d catch you in time. What if I missed? What if it wasn’t powerful enough? All I know, is that you were headed for the ground head first, and I was the only one who could stop it. So I did.’

‘Just like that?’

Potter tilts his head. ‘I don’t think I could do it again. I definitely don’t think I could do it at will.’

‘I should think not,’ says Poppy, unable to help herself from interjecting. ‘Mr Malfoy is right, I don’t think you realise how lucky you are, Potter. That level of magic casting can kill a grown wizard. Let alone a teenager.’

‘I…’ Potter trails off. He swallows and looks back at the floor. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘Then why did you do it?’ Malfoy says, clearly exasperated.

Potter laughs, quiet and mirthless. ‘You don’t know why I’d save you?’ he glances up. ‘You haven’t been listening to me at all, have you?’

Silence falls. Potter shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair and looking at anything but Malfoy. Malfoy just stares at him, his face unreadable.

‘Head back, Potter,’ says Poppy, breaking into the awkward silence.

Blinking up at the ceiling as Poppy performs her test, Potter says, ‘Look, it’s done now, okay? Can’t you just say thank you like a normal person and be done with it?’

Poppy raises an eyebrow. She glances over at Minerva, unable to quell her curiosity on the other woman’s reaction. Minerva, as always, is unflappable. She’s hiding her interest by pretending to flick through a book she’s produced from somewhere—though Poppy sees a small twitch in the corner of her mouth. Amusement, perhaps?

Malfoy, meanwhile, is glowering at Potter. His jaw clenches and he flops back onto his bed with a small growl. ‘When can I go?’ he asks the ceiling.

‘Tomorrow,’ says Poppy, somehow managing to keep the exasperation out of her voice. ‘Now, you’re to stay in your own beds and absolutely no magic. Especially you, Potter.’

Potter looks away but nods. Malfoy merely grunts. Poppy gestures to Minerva but before she follows Poppy out, Minerva shuts her book and glances between the two boys.

‘You’re assignment for care of magical creatures has been approved,’ she says in that brisk, takes-no-attitude tone Poppy has always envied. ‘I obviously don’t need to tell you how big a responsibility this task is, but I trust that you will continue to work together to raise this creature without any incidents.’

Potter immediately perks up. ‘You mean we’re getting her? The Horned Serpent?’

Minerva offers him a small smile. ‘You are. She’ll arrive in the morning.’

Potter and Malfoy glance at each other, but whatever unspoken thing is hanging between them have them glancing away quickly, despite their obvious excitement. Poppy shakes her head.

Back in her office, Poppy waits for the inevitable question.

‘So, what are you going to tell Potter?’

Poppy raises an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ she asks. ‘You’re not even curious about what happened out there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh please,’ says Poppy, turning and flicking her wand and Potter’s chart. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. I know you better than that.’

‘I admit I was surprised. But I trust you’d tell me if it were anything significant,’ says Minerva, sounding amused. ‘You clearly know what’a going on between them.’

Poppy snorts and summons Malfoy’s file with a swift swish. ‘Hardly. In all honesty I’d forgotten it was an issue in light of Potter’s…’ She trails off.

She doesn’t want to say the words. Disease. It sounds so permanent. So final. And she’s still researching the illness. Still searching for a remedy.

‘What can I do?’ Minerva asks again, her voice soft.

Poppy sighs. ‘For now I just need information. I need to know exactly what it is we’re dealing with. Then I can figure out a way to stop it.’

Minerva nods. ‘I believe Albus has a rare book on Morgana’s era, I’ll see if I can get my hands on it. I assume you haven’t told him?’

Poppy snorts again. ‘Can you imagine what he’d do if I did?’

Minerva purses her lips. ‘Yes, I can,’ she says, and shakes her head. ‘I know he cares about the boy but sometimes I wonder if he really sees him.’ She straightens and gives herself a cat like shake. ‘Alright, I’ll see what I can dig up.’

Poppy nods. ‘Oh, Minerva?’ Minerva pauses in the fireplace. ‘For heavens sake don’t mention Potter and Malfoy to Albus. Or to Severus for that matter.’

A wicked smile spreads across the other woman’s face, her eyes glittering behind her glasses. She merely offers Poppy a wink before throwing the floo powder and disappearing back to her own offices.

Poppy rolls her eyes. Well, if Minerva tells them there's nothing she can do about it and frankly Poppy has other things to worry about. Like how to keep Potter from becoming magically crippled.

Several hours later Poppy has a headache the size of an erumpent and barely any new information.

She’s mapped out the pattern in Potter’s symptoms (the pattern that has been niggling at the back of her mind ever since Draco Malfoy revealed the events of Diagon Alley). The magical outbursts, his lack of control, even his panic attacks, they all lead to the same thing.

Mediocris Malum.

An affliction with no cure. No remedy. No potion. Nothing that will make the disease currently riddling it’s way through Potter’s magic any better. Slowly but surely his condition will worsen.

She sighs and rubs at her eyes. Minerva was right. It should have been impossible. Even she had thought the illness a fairy tale. A myth. Something you told children who were misbehaving. And even if it weren’t, it was a malady that only afflicted the strong. The exceptional.

Oh Potter had his talents, and the Headmaster certainly put a lot of faith in him, but exceptional? He wasn’t Merlin. He wasn’t even Morgana Le Fay.

Yet…yet he had transformed an entire Quidditch Pitch into water. Not just water, but a lake. with depth and terrain. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

So she had dredged up every bit of medical knowledge she could find on the affliction. What it was. What it did. How to fix it.

Only that was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no fix. Poppy rubs her head and considers, yet again, telling Albus. Maybe there was something he knew that could help?

Muffled laughter echoes out from the main wing of the Infirmary. Poppy leans back in her chair, casting a watchful eye at the mirror placed strategically in the corner of her office in order to get a better view of the main room.

Potter is sitting cross legged on the end of his bed, watching as Malfoy works on some device or other with his wand. He has a frustrated expression on his face, but he grins when Potter laughs.

‘It was working yesterday,’ grumbles Malfoy, stabbing his wand at the little rectangular box he’s holding.

‘There’s no way it was working,’ says Potter. ‘As awesome as that would be, Hermione has told me a thousand times that Muggle technology doesn’t work at Hogwarts.’

‘No,’ says Malfoy, yanking on a cord. ‘It does work. You just have to have the right rune barrier.’

‘Then why isn’t there more muggle tech around?’

‘Because it’s time consuming,’ sighs Malfoy. ‘And anyway, it's not like it’s anything useful.’

‘That’s not true,’ says Potter. ‘Muggles have some pretty cool stuff.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like that walkman for one,’ laughs Potter.

Malfoy glares and throws the little box at Potter. ‘How about you try making it work?’

Potter throws it back. ‘I don’t know the first thing about runes, and besides, I’m not allowed to use magic, remember.’

Malfoy scoffs. ‘Like that’s ever stopped you before.’

‘You know, I think I’m starting to work it out.’

‘Work what out.’

‘You being a jerk. I mean, sometimes you really are just being a jerk. But sometimes I think you’re really just worried.’

‘What on Earth would I have to be worried about, Potter? I hope you’re not implying that I actually care about what happens to you?’

‘You don’t?’

A momentary pause, and Malfoy looks caught, like he’s not sure how to respond. ‘I despise you Potter, everybody knows that.’

‘Then why’d you take that bludger for me?’

‘Momentary lapse in judgement.’

‘Why’d you kiss me?’

‘If you recall, you kissed me first. I was merely screwing with you’re already screwed up head.’

‘Why’d you sleep next to me all night?’

Malfoy’s jaw clenches. He swings his legs over the side of the bed to glare at Potter.

‘What do you want from me?’ he asks.

‘The truth.’

Malfoy shakes his head, glares again, and sighs. ‘Fine. So maybe I was worried. Maybe I kissed you and maybe you looked more pathetic than a kicked puppy last night that I had no choice but to come keep you company lest you fell into a coma or something and they blamed me. But if you want the truth, the truth is that this is never going to work. That we’re too different, and you’re too—what’re you—mfph.’

Potter slips off his bed, crosses the two steps between them and kisses Malfoy right in the middle of his rant. It’s short, and Malfoy is clearly surprised, but Potter still smiles when he pulls away.

‘I despise you too, Draco Malfoy,’ he says in a soft voice and sways a little.

Poppy purses her lips. She’s about to go in there and berate him about overexerting himself but without waiting for a response he turns and crawls back into his bed.

‘I hate it when you do that,’ Malfoy mutters.

‘Kiss you?’

‘…no. Surprise me. I don’t like being caught off guard. And you’ve been catching me off guard quite a bit.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No you’re not,’ Malfoy sighs and shakes his head again.

‘No, I’m not,’ says Potter, and Poppy can hear the smile in his voice.

She sighs and shuts off the mirror with a wave of her wand. There was no harm in letting the boy be happy another day. After all, if she’s right, he’s got a long struggle ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Phew, that was a struggle. My health issue has gotten worse so it’s been a bit difficult to get to the keyboard. I’ve definitely not stopped this story though, I just have to slow down unfortunately. I still hope to aim for once a week updates but with the way things are that may not happen so I hope you’ll be patient with me. I’m really enjoying writing this story, and there’s still a lot to go.


	28. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone for the support regarding my health and your patience with my slow updates, I really, really appreciate it. I am still here, and I am still working on this story, albeit much slower than I'd like, but I hope you're enjoying the story enough to stick with me. I'm really enjoying writing it and I love being able to share it with you guys.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

_Confessions_

 

**_Dean:_ **

The problem begins with a rumour. Doesn’t it always? Hogwarts is full of rumours, but for the most part Dean ignores them. They don’t concern him and even when they concern his friends, most of the time the rumours are a load of bull that he can easily dismiss.

That’s what he does when he first hears _The_ rumour. The one that changes everything. The one that ruins his relationship.

He’s heading back to Gryffindor tower after lunch one Saturday, three weekends before Christmas holidays when he hears Ginny’s name. His footsteps slow automatically, wondering if he needs to crack someone’s head for talking shit about his girlfriend, when he hears Harry’s name too, and comes to a stop.

‘—Ginny Weasley dating Harry Potter?’

‘Really? Isn’t she dating someone else?’

‘Guess not. She and Potter have been making out in closets all week.’

Dean blinks, his mouth falling open as the words register in his mind.

‘I heard she sat by his bed all weekend after that Quidditch accident.’

‘Oh how insane was _that_? Potter must be scary powerful. He’s so hot. I wish he would date _me_.’

‘Fat chance.’

‘Hmph. What’s so good about Ginny Weasley anyway? She’s a _ginger_.’

Irritation burns along Deans spine, and he storms toward the two girls. Rumours claiming Harry is dating someone new are a knut a dozen—and _never_ true (the boy is basically a hermit)—but now they’re just insulting his girl.

‘Well for starters, she jumped into that lake to rescue him. That’s pretty brave. _And_ romantic.’

‘Um, excuse me,’ says Dean, interrupting the girls before the conversation can continue any further. ‘Do you mind maybe _not_ spreading false rumours about my girlfriend?’

The two girls blink, looking him up and down with affronted expressions.

‘Do you mind not eavesdropping on our conversation?’ One of them retorts, raising one eyebrow in disdain.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Yeah, I do,’ he says. ‘Especially when you’re talking loud enough for people down the next corridor to hear. About _my_ girlfriend.’

The other girl, the one who hasn’t spoken, sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. ‘Well we weren’t talking about your girlfriend.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, getting supremely annoyed—especially as he’s just noticed these girls are from his own house. ‘Ginny Weasley? _I’m_ her boyfriend. Not Harry.’

The girls exchange covetous glances that Dean does _not_ like the look of.

‘So…Harry’s still free, then? I mean, he’s _available_?’

Dean frowns at them. ‘Uh, yeah. I guess.’

Immediately, the two girls erupt into giggles. ‘Thanks!’ they say, and take off down the hall.

Dean shakes his head. He feels momentarily bad for Harry and whatever hell he’s just unleashed on him, but then he remembers that the alternative was two gossips spreading rumours about _his_ girlfriend.

He shakes his head and grins to himself. ‘Sorry Harry,’ he mutters under his breath, and continues on his way.

Two days later Dean is about ready to punch the next person he hears discussing Harry and Ginny’s supposed “new relationship”. It seems to be all anyone can talk about. How she dove into the unknown depths of Potter’s stupid conjured lake to rescue the overpowered idiot. How she sat with him for hours, which, yes okay, she _did_ sit with him a bit but so did Looney Lovegood and Ron and Hermione—hell even _Malfoy_ was there and no body was talking about _that_ (it didn’t matter to Dean that he was merely there doing homework).

Dean sits fuming by the fireplace, put out by yet another overheard bit of gossip about Ginny disappearing into a closet with Potter and tries to convince himself it doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t. Really. After all, Ginny is great. Sure, Ron might be pissed about Dean seeing her, but so far (so long as Dean makes sure not to mention it in front of him) he’s been pretty cool about it. And yeah, so she’s a stronger flier than him, and she jumped into that lake without even _thinking_ of the danger, but that’s what makes her so awesome. She’s strong and independent and that’s great, really, except…except she’s his _girlfriend_ , and he wants to be able to do stuff for her. Open doors, carry her bags, hell he’d even be happy with a picnic or afternoon stroll. But Ginny doesn’t seem to want to do _any_ of those things.

‘It’s like she doesn’t want me to treat her nicely,’ he complains to Seamus.

‘Well, she does have six older brothers,’ offers Seamus. ‘It’s no surprise she can handle herself.’

‘I _know_ that,’ says Dean, rolling his eyes. ‘But, I mean, she doesn’t _have_ to. I mean, doesn’t she want someone to take care of her every now and then? Is it so horrible?’

Seamus shrugs. ‘I dunno mate, you’re talking to the wrong guy.’

Dean sighs and slouches back in his chair. Laughter from across the room catches his attention. Lavender is all but sitting in Ron’s lap. They were snogging a few moments ago, but they seem to have taken a momentary break for air. Lavender is laughing at something Ron has said. Across from them, Hermione looks on in disgust.

Harry is there too, and Dean glowers at the boy.

‘It’s all his fault.’

He doesn’t realise he’s spoken the words aloud until Seamus replies. ‘Whose fault?’ he asks, looking up from the essay he’s working on and following Dean’s gaze. ‘Ah,’ he says, catching sight of Harry. ‘Is that really fair though?’

Dean shoots his friend a frustrated glare and Seamus puts his hands up in surrender.

‘Hey, I’m just saying,’ he says. ‘Remember what happened last time we believed rumours about Harry—Sorry, last time _I_ believed them. It’s not like he can control what people say about him.’

‘I know,’ sighs Dean. ‘It’s just…I’m over it.’

‘Over what?’

Dean jumps, looking up into the curious, smiling face of one Ginny Weasley with a vaguely guilty expression. ‘Just, you know…school in general.’

She grins at him, and he feels a slight wave of relief. She wouldn’t be so relaxed if she’d overheard his complaining. He scoots over, making room for her on the seat next to him, but a call from across the room calls her attention away.

‘Ginny!’

Dean scowls. _Potter_ is making his way toward them.

‘Hey,’ she says, her smile brightening. ‘Finally out of the Hospital Wing, eh? How does freedom feel?’

He shrugs at her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. ‘Alright I guess,’ he says. ‘Say, can I talk to you for a minute? Upstairs?’

Dean grits his teeth, but manages to bite his tongue.

Ginny raises her eyebrows. A cheeky grin flashes across her face. ‘Again, Harry? My, my,’ she says teasingly.

Harry shoots her a mock glare, face flushing red. ‘Oh, shut up. Are you coming or not?’

She laughs. ‘Of course I am,’ she says and gestures toward the staircase. ‘Lead the way.’

Harry rolls his eyes and stomps off up the stairs.

Ginny makes to follow him. ‘Oh,’ she says, turning abruptly and leaning over to place a quick kiss on Dean’s cheek. ‘Back in a minute,’ she says brightly before disappearing up the stairwell.

Dean bristles. ‘I just don’t get it,’ he scowls. ‘If nothings going on then why the hell are they hanging out so much? They never have before.’

Seamus winces. ‘I dunno mate.’

Dean glares up the staircase. He shakes his head. ‘I’m going up there,’ he says, pushing up from the desk.

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ says Seamus, eyes going wide. ‘I mean, you don’t _really_ think there’s anything going on, do you?’

Dean pauses. ‘No,’ he says. ‘But I can’t just sit here while Potter’s off having secret conversations with _my_ girlfriend. Not when the whole school thinks they’re together.’

Seamus still looks doubtful, and the uncertainty bubbling in Dean’s gut increases with step toward the dorms. He hesitates just outside the door, shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

Maybe Seamus is right. Maybe he’s just overreacting?

‘—getting a bit bold, aren’t we?’ says Ginny in a teasing tone. ‘How many times is this now?’

Potter mutters something in response that Dean can’t hear, and, despite himself, he leans into the door, straining his ears to listen.

Ginny laughs. ‘Understatement, isn’t it? Well, when are we making this official?’

‘Official?’ Harry says, his voice choking. ‘I hardly think we’re ready for _that_.’

‘Really? Because I’d have assumed that with all the snogging…’

At the word snogging, blood rushes in Dean’s ears. Heat surges up his spine and his fists clench. No way. There’s no _way_.

‘Ginny,’ Harry protests. ‘God you make it sound like we’re together all the time.’

‘Well…’

‘Stop it. It’s hard enough as it is without talk of making anything _official_. For starters I’m pretty sure Ron would murder me.’

‘Oh forget Ron,’ says Ginny, dismissively. ‘He’ll come around.’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be _completely_ fine with—‘

Dean can’t listen to anymore. He grabs the door handle and barges into the room, cutting off any further conversation between the two.

Ginny and Potter both turn, matching startled expressions on their faces. Dean can’t _stand_ it.

‘Dean?’ asks Ginny, concern flashing over her face.

‘You know,’ says Dean through clenched teeth. ‘I tried. I really did. I told myself it wasn’t true. That they were just rumours.’ He shakes his head. ‘Did you really think you could get away with this?’

Potter’s eyes go wide, his face paling as he realises that Dean knows.

Ginny is calmer. ‘Dean,’ she says, her voice cautious. ‘What’re you talking about? What did you hear?’

‘Enough to know that I was wrong,’ spits Dean. ‘About you, about _Potter_. Did you really think no one would find out? Did you really think this was _okay_?’

Ginny frowns, glancing back at bloody Potter with a concerned frown. ‘Dean, don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?’

‘ _Overreacting_? I’m _overreacting_? You’re _cheating_ on me!’

‘I— _what_?’ Ginny gapes at him.

Potter, finally, manages to say something. ‘Hang on, cheating? Ginny’s not cheating on you.’

‘Oh really? And all that talk about you two snogging?’ asks Dean. ‘You’ve been _seen_ you know. All week I’ve had to listen to people go on and on about how _cute_ you two fucking look. And like an _idiot_ I told them they were wrong. That Ginny is _my_ girlfriend, and all the while you two have been…have been...’

‘Have been _what_ , exactly?’ Ginny asks and if Dean wasn’t so furious he’d see the warning signs.

He’d see the angry flush to her skin, hear the fury in her voice, the outrage and indignity that might have alerted him to the fact that his accusations might be false.

‘Wait a second, you think that Ginny and _I_ are…are…what _together_?’ asks Potter, staring at Dean in stunned disbelief. ‘Jesus Dean, that’s not…God believe me there is _nothing_ going on between me and Ginny.’

‘Oh yeah? Then what was all that talk just now about snogging, huh?’

‘That was—’

‘None of your bloody business,’ says Ginny, cutting Potter off. ‘Merlin, I can’t _believe_ you. You’re supposed to be my boyfriend.’

‘You’re supposed to be my girlfriend!’ Dean shouts. ‘You’re supposed to be with me, not gallivanting around with another guy in bloody closets!’

‘Ex- _cuse_ me?’ Ginny snarls.

Potter gapes at him and then, to Deans furious surprise, he starts to laugh. Ginny shoots him a glare.

‘Harry,’ she says warningly.

Potter shakes his head. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Look, yeah, we went into a closet. But it’s not what you think. I needed help with something, that’s all.’

‘You needed help? In a closet? Am I really supposed to believe that? What the hell would you need help with in a bloody _closet_?’

‘Harry,’ Ginny warns again, but the boy is already laughing.

Later, after it’s all blown over, Dean will realise how morbidly morose that laugh was. How dark and completely mirthless it was. Now though, now all Dean can hear is the blood roaring in his ears as Potter’s stupid laugh echoes in his head, mocking him.

‘Oh,’ says Potter, still with that weird chuckle. ‘You have _no_ idea.’

‘You really are an arrogant, self-entered—!’

‘You’re the arrogant one!’ Ginny yells. ‘God, I can’t believe you’re actually accusing me of _cheating_ on you! Do you really think I would stoop so low? You think that little of me?’

Dean fumbles for a moment. He crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. Flushes. Stares back at Ginny in a mixture of defiance and embarrassment.

‘I…well I didn’t want to. I told you didn’t I? I’ve been telling everyone all week that it isn’t true! But now…’

‘Now _what_?’ Ginny asks, steam practically coming out of her ears. ‘What exactly have I done to convince you that this _ridiculous_ accusation is true?’

‘You were just talking about snogging each other!’

‘No we weren’t!’ Ginny snaps again. ‘And if you respected me at all you’d believe me!’

‘If you respected _me_ at all, you’d tell me why the hell you two have to hang out so much!’

‘Jesus because we’re friends, Dean!’

He shakes his head. ‘No. No I’m sick of it. I’m tired of everyone talking about what a cute couple you are.’

‘Jesus,’ Potter says and scrubs a hand through his hair. ‘Dean, trust me, there is _nothing_ going on. She not even my type. At _all_.’

‘You’re supposed to be my girlfriend,’ Dean says again, refusing to listen to anything _Potter_ has to say.

‘Well you can relax,’ says Ginny, glowering. ‘Because that’s not something you’ll have to worry about anymore.’

Dean stares at her, fury and outrage making him sputter. Did she…did she just _break up_ him?

‘What do you mean?’ says Potter, looking back and forth between Ginny and Dean. ‘You’re not, you’re not breaking up, are you?’

‘You’re choosing him over me?’ asks Dean, shaking his head. He laughs mirthlessly. ‘Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you. He’s Harry freaking Potter.’

‘Wait, hang on, just…just hang on,’ says Potter, panic in his voice. ‘You’re not breaking up.’

‘Of course we are,’ says Ginny, her eyes flashing. ‘I certainly won’t be with someone who thinks I’m capable of _cheating_.’

Dean shakes his head in disgust. ‘Fine, whatever,’ he says and spins around, stomping for the door. ‘I hope you’re happy together.’

‘Dean, wait,’ says Potter. ‘There’s nothing going on, I swear. Dean…We’re not…I’m not...for fucks sake, I’m _gay_!’

Stunned silence follows. Well, for a moment. Then Ron—standing frozen in the half open doorway with his hand still on the handle—says in shocked disbelief,

’You’re _what_?’


	29. Overreactions

Chapter Twenty-Nine

_Overreactions_

 

**_Ron:_ **

‘…for fucks sake, I’m _gay_!’

Ron freezes halfway through the act of opening the dorm door. For a moment he thinks it’s Dean whose shouted the words. Partly because he’s the first person Ron sees but also because the idea that his best friend likes _blokes_ is…is…well it’s just…

’You’re _what_?’

He doesn’t even register the words as his, barely even registers the state of the room, he’s too busy trying to process what he’s just heard. Trying to reconcile it with the look of absolute horror that’s spreading across his best friends face.

For a moment the entire room is still.

Only for a moment, though.

‘Ron, close the damn door!’

Ron does, the the action is more of a reflex than a conscious decision. Ginny’s words are whip-crack sharp and so like their mother’s that it breaks though the haze descending on Ron’s mind. He hadn’t even realised that Ginny was in the room until she spoke.

‘Wait,’ says Dean ignoring Ron and turning to look at Harry. ‘if you’re—if you’re _gay_ , why were you two talking about snogging.’

The word “snogging” almost sends Ron’s mind into a panic. Harry looks like he’s going to throw up.

‘Jesus Dean, we weren’t talking about _us_ ,’ says Ginny, her voice biting cold.

‘O-oh…so you’re not—you’re not together, then?’ says Dean.

Ron stares at him. ‘Wait… _what_?’

‘No,’ says Ginny. ‘There’s _nothing_ going on with me and Harry. Like I _said_.’

‘Because he’s...’ Dean glances back and forth between Harry and Ginny, and swallows. ‘Oh.’

‘But...’ says Ron, gaping at them. It’s all just too much. Dean saying Ginny and Harry are together. Harry saying he’s…he’s… ‘But what about Cho?’

‘Really, Ron? _Cho_?’ asks Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘I hardly think _that_ counts.’

The confusion in Ron’s mind solidifies into irritation at his sister. ‘Oh really? Well she was a _girl_ , and they kissed, so I think that _does_ sort of count. So he can’t be…can’t be…’

‘Gay?’ asks Ginny, her gaze narrowing at him, her face getting that dangerous glint their mother’s did whenever she was angry. ‘Merlin Ron, it’s just a word.’

‘I know that!’

‘Then what’s the bloody problem?’

‘I just…he likes _girls_!’

‘Obviously he doesn’t!’

Ron shakes his head. ‘No, no this doesn’t make any sense. Harry, mate, what about…what about Cho? You liked her didn’t you?’

Harry blinks, and there’s a strange sort of desperation that crosses his face. It’s an expression Ron doesn’t understand, especially since so far all he’s done is stare at Ron as if he’s just started vomiting slugs all over again.

‘I’m not…I don’t…’ Harry trails off, and he sits down hard on the edge of his bed.

‘Harry? You alright?’ asks Ginny, taking a step toward him.

His breathing is shallow. He starts to nod, then stops, shakes his head twice and covers his face, mumbling something under his breath. Alarm fills Ginny’s face and she reaches out for him.

‘What?’ asks Ron, the worry piercing through the confusion in his brain. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘There's nothing _wrong_ with him Ron,’ Ginny snaps, shooting a glare back at him as she hovers over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry brushes her off, shaking his head. ‘I’m okay,’ he says, his voice raspy.

‘Are you sure? I can get you your bag—’

‘I’m fine,’ says Harry, cutting her off sharply.

He glances up at Ron and Dean, and Ginny goes quiet, flicking them a quick look before nodding back at Harry. Ron frowns, and heat flushes up his neck.

‘So you’re really gay then?’ he asks, crossing his arms and staring hard at Hary.

‘Uh…yeah,’ says Harry, and his shoulders droop.

Irritation starts to swarm up Ron’s spine. ‘And all that with Cho? What was that?’

Harry frowns at the floor and shrugs half heartedly. ‘A mistake?’ he offers. ‘I dunno. I dunno what to say. I’m just…things are…different.’

‘Yeah,’ says Ron, and his voice comes out harder than he intends. ‘I guess they are.’

Harry winces but still, he won’t even _look_ at Ron.

Ginny takes a step toward him, leaning forwards to hiss, ‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Me?’ he asks, his voice loud in his sudden anger. ‘What’s wrong with _me_? How about what’s wrong with you? And with him?’

‘There’s _nothing_ wrong with him, Ron! Why are you being like this?’

‘Maybe because my _best mate_ is keeping secrets from me. Again! How long have you known about this?’

‘Oh for heavens sake, _that’s_ what this is about?’ asks Ginny, and she laughs harshly. ‘You’re jealous?’

Ron’s fists ball up. ‘I’m not jealous!’

‘You sound pretty bloody jealous to me,’ says Ginny. ‘How about you stop being such a _child—’_

‘How about you butt your nose out of something that’s none of your damn business!’

‘Stop it! Both of you!’ Harry says, standing back up. ‘Look, Ron—’

He reaches out to grab at him, but Ron jerks back. Hurt flashes across Harry’s face, and his hand drops back down. A momentary surge of guilt sweeps through Ron, but then Ginny moves to stand next to Harry, crossing her arms and glaring at Ron and blood rushes through his ears.

‘How long has this been going on?’ Ron asks, gesturing at Harry and Ginny.

‘God Ron—’

‘Since Halloween,’ says Harry, his voice low.

‘Halloween? _Halloween_? That was weeks ago! You’ve known that you’re—that you—why didn’t you tell me? Why did you tell _her_?’

Harry runs a hand through his hair, agitation written all over his features. His eyes dart around the room and he shrugs.

‘I…I don’t know, okay?’

‘You don’t know?’ Ron scoffs. ‘But you knew you could tell Ginny?’

Ginny scowls and opens her mouth to no doubt start shouting, but Harry shoots her a sharp look and she falls quiet. He turns back to Ron and says darkly,

‘I guess I was just worried about how well you’d take it.’

‘Oh so it’s my fault? It’s my fault you can never tell the _truth_! You know I’ve backed you up, over and over! I’ve been there for you, and you _always_ do this. You always leave me in the dark!’

’I’m sorry!’ Harry shouts, and there’s more than just anger in his voice, but Ron can’t focus on it, he can’t focus on anything except the fact that Harry was once again keeping things from him. ‘I’m sorry I told Ginny and not you. I’m sorry you found out this way. But I can’t help it, Ron! This hasn’t exactly been easy for me to deal with you know!’

‘Maybe it would’ve been easier to deal with if you’d been honest with your best friends! Unless you don’t trust us anymore? Is that it? You think we can’t keep your stupid little secrets?’

The door bursts opens before Harry can shout anything back and Hermione walks in, her eyes wide in that way she gets when she’s both worried and frustrated.

‘What in the world is going on in here?’

Dean steps in behind her and quickly shuts the door, and Ron’s head swims for a moment, not having realised that Dean had even left the room.

There’s a moment of quiet before Harry scowls and says, ‘Nothing.’

Ron laughs. ‘Sure, other than the fact that you’re keeping secrets.’

‘Ron, bloody hell, it’s not—‘ Ginny cuts off, shaking her head.

‘Secrets?’ Hermione frowns, glancing back and forth between

‘Yeah, apparently Harry’s gay.’

‘Ron!’ Ginny gasps.

Ron tries not to wince. Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth he regrets them, but it’s too late to take them back.

Harry is staring at him in a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. Why does _he_ feel betrayed? Ron’s the one who has been kept in the dark. Again.

‘I can trust you to keep my secrets, can I?’ Harry asks, voice dangerously quiet, and Ron is about to retort when he realises that Harry is blinking back tears. ‘Thanks for your support, Ron. You’re a great friend.’

His voice is thick and hurt and it hits Ron like a physical blow. Harder than when Harry brushes passed him, pushing out of the room.

‘Harry, wait,’ says Hermione, but he’s already gone.

Ginny turns to Ron, fury written all over her face. ‘You are unbelievable,’ she says, shaking her head.

‘What?’ says Ron, still frustrated and confused and—damnit, _he’s_ the one whose hurt! ‘It’s just Hermione, it’s not like she’s going to tell anyone.’

‘No, we can all count on _you_ to do that,’ Ginny snarls. ‘You know, this is _exactly_ why he didn’t tell you.’

‘Oh come off it!’ says Ron. ‘It’s not that big a deal.’

‘Yes, Ron, it is,’ says Hermione, shaking her head. ‘Honestly, sometimes you can be so dense.’

‘ _Me_?’ Ron snaps, ‘He’s the one who—‘

‘Yes, he kept it from us,’ says Hermione, cutting him off with that calm-but-exasperated tone of voice she did so well. ‘But did you stop to think that maybe there was a _reason_ for that?’

‘ _What_ reason?’ asks Ron incredulously. ‘Why would he keep something like this from us?’

‘Seriously?’ Dean asks.

Ron startles. Once again, he’s forgotten Dean is there. The boy stands over by the door, looking extremely uncomfortable with being there. Still, he stares at Ron in incredulity.

‘Yeah,’ says Ron, crossing his arms. ‘Seriously.’

‘Well…I mean, _I_ sure as hell wouldn’t want anyone knowing that I liked blokes. You know, if I was. Not that I do, mind you.’

Ginny rolls her eyes. ‘Trust me, no one cares,’ she mutters.

‘Because,’ says Hermione, her patient tone quelling any further bickering. ‘Being gay in the muggle world isn’t the same as being gay in the wizarding world. People here don’t really care. Or if they do they just ignore it. There isn’t really much prejudice about it. It’s not like that in the muggle world. Muggles…react badly, to gays. They get called names, bullied, discriminated against, _attacked_.’

Ron blanches. ‘Attacked?’

Hermione nods. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Kind of like what _you_ just did,’ Ginny mutters, her arms still crossed.

‘Actually,’ says Dean. ‘It’s usually worse than that. My Uncle got beaten so badly he had to go to hospital.’

In the sudden quiet, an unpleasant churning fills Ron’s stomach.

‘Hospital?’ Ginny asks weakly, her face pale.

Hermione nods. ‘It’s awful. It happens more than you’d think. And that’s not even the worst.’

‘What’s _worse_?’ asks Ron.

Hermione shrugs. ‘He probably feels ashamed.’

‘Ashamed?’ asks Ron, flabbergasted. ‘Why?’

‘Well I dunno,’ says Ginny, finding her voice again. ‘When your friends take it so well, what’s there to be ashamed of?’

‘I didn’t—that’s not…look I might’ve been _surprised_ ,’ says Ron, flushing hotly. ‘But I didn’t mean there was anything _wrong_ with, with, with—‘

‘With being gay?’ asks Ginny, raising her eyebrows.

‘Exactly!’

‘Ron,’ says Hermione softly, gently. ‘How do you expect him to feel when you can’t even say the word?’

‘I—’ Ron starts to object, cuts himself off and swears. Then he swears again. ‘I didn’t…I didn’t _know_. I didn’t mean to…’

Hermione steps forward and touches his arm. ‘I know, Ron. I know you didn’t. But the problem is that you did.’

‘I just…I was just surprised, that’s all,’ says Ron, knowing the words aren’t enough even as he says them. ‘I didn’t understand why he hadn’t told us.’

Harry’s words come back to him then. _“This hasn’t exactly been easy for me to deal with you know!”_

His shoulders droop and he scuffs at the floor with the toe of one boot.

’He would have,’ says Hermione. ‘You know that, right? When he was ready, he’d have told us.’

Ron frowns, his guilt making him feel uncomfortable. Squirmy. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Make it right,’ says Hermione. ‘Find him and apologise.’

‘And don’t tell anyone else in the process,’ adds Ginny, her tone still cold. ‘This secret doesn’t leave this room. Not until _Harry_ is ready to tell it himself.’

Ron nods, frustrated at being chastised by his baby sister but knowing he deserves it. That is, until he glances up and sees her glaring at Dean.

Dean’s expression sours. ’You really think I’d say something?’

‘Well you did accuse me of cheating on you,’ she says.

Ron blinks. ‘Hang on—’

Hermione nudges him. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s go find Harry.’

‘But—’

‘They clearly need to talk,’ says Hermione. ‘Let’s go find Harry.'


	30. Cold Heat

Chapter Thirty

_Cold Heat_

 

**_Draco:_ **

The air is cool and crisp and has Draco sighing heavily into the collar of his coat as he makes the long trudge down to the Quidditch Pitch.

‘What’s wrong with you this fine winter afternoon?’ Blaise asks, his voice entirely too cheerful for Draco’s liking.

‘Fine?’ grumbles Draco, yanking his coat tighter over his Quidditch gear. ‘It’s bloody freezing.’

Blaise chuckles. ‘Don’t be do dull, Draco, it’s marvellous weather for flying.’

Draco scoffs, shooting Blaise a sideways scowl. If he had it his way, he’d rather be back inside beside the fire. Hell he’d rather be in the library, sitting next to—

‘Blimey whose that?’

Out of reflex, Draco glances up, dragging his thoughts away from libraries and fires and the warmth of someone sitting close—

He stops short, staring at the small figure darting back and forth across the sky in the distance above the Quidditch pitch. The figure turns sharply, catapulting into a nose dive that knocks the wind out of Draco’s lungs. He stares in numb disbelief, knowing there’s only one person who can fly like that and wondering what the bloody hell the idiot is thinking.

Fury sends a rush of heat through Draco’s limbs and a moment letter he’s storming down the last of the hill, leaving his teammates to gawk at the spectacle Potter is currently putting on. Potter, who was still in the Hospital Wing only this morning.

Draco, too, watches as he walks. He understands his teammates awe (Potter has always been an exceptional flier), this ariel display is on an entirely different level to the usual style of flying in school Quidditch. Potter weaves through the sky like he was born there, dipping and diving and twisting and turning through the currents of air with an ease that looks simple and graceful.

Draco’s scowl only deepens. He pushes through the locker rooms, discarding his coat on one of the benches without looking, his grip tight around his broom as he storms out onto the pitch itself to look up at Potter.

The rest of his team trickle out behind him.

‘Bloody hell, I wish I could fly like that,’ says Blaise from next to Draco, staring up at Potter.

‘No, you don’t,’ snaps Draco. ‘He’s being an idiot.’

‘Oh?’ says Blaise, and Draco can hear the blatant curiosity in his voice.

He ignores it and flicks his wand out from its hiding place in his sleeve, sending up a flare out of the way but where he’s sure Potter will see it. That is, if he’s paying attention to anything other than the reckless flying he’s doing.

Draco can see it. The overly sharp twists, the sudden turns. There’s skilful flying and then there’s just being a moron…honestly, after spending the last several days in the Hospital Wing, Potter should know better.

Bright sparks of red flash across the sky in Potter’s current path and he comes to an abrupt stop mid-air, slamming on the brakes in an entirely too forceful manner. His head swivels, and then pins on them down below.

Draco stares back up at him, unable to see his face but imagining the expression there. The tight expression of anger and frustration fuelling Potter’s mad-dash across the sky. It’s the only explanation for the complete lack of regard to his own safety.

Except, when Potter lands before them (a windswept mess), there is no anger or frustration in his face. Only a burning intensity that Draco can’t read.

Thrown, Draco’s words come out biting and cold. ‘Sorry to interrupt your attempt at suicide, Potter,’ he says. ‘but we’ve got the pitch booked for practice.’

He clenches his jaw, irritated at himself almost as soon as the words are out. Still, Potter’s face barely twitches at his tone and Draco can’t stop the unbidden memory of him laying in the Hospital bed from flashing across his mind. He clenches his fist, seized by the sudden desire to grab Potter by the shoulders and shake him.

Potter blinks. ‘It’s all yours,’ he mutters.

The flat tone to Potter’s voice is a stark contrast to that unreadable expression burning in his eyes and Draco falters, unable to think of a suitable reply.

Still, as Potter pushes through (shoving in between Draco’s teammates instead of walking around), he glances sideways at Draco and for a moment that burning look intensifies into something heavy and hungry. Draco’s mouth goes dry and his palms start to sweat.

‘Well that was odd,’ says Blaise, staring after Potter’s retreating back. ‘What’s got him so wound up you think?’

Draco swallows against the sudden lump in his throat, trying to shake off the unsettled feeling that’s crept over him. ‘Who bloody knows,’ he mutters and tries to resist the urge to stuff his hands under his armpits. ‘Are we having practice or not?’

‘Well we might,’ says Urquhart, annoyance in his voice. ‘Except apparently Potter’s taken off with the snitch.’

He’s leaning over the equipment box and, as Draco tears his gaze away from Potter (disappearing into the lockers) he sees that, yes, the snitch is indeed missing.

‘Well I’m sure Draco will go fetch it,’ says Blaise gaily, grinning brightly at Draco. ‘Won’t you?’

Draco glares. ‘Why the bloody hell should I?’

‘You _are_ the seeker, aren’t you? And the rest of us don’t need the snitch to get started. Besides, aren’t you and Potter good ol’ pals now?’

Draco rolls his eyes, ‘Fuck off,’ he says.

Urquhart sighs and stands up, eyeing Draco critically. ‘Zabini’s got a point. We can start practice without you, but there’s no point you being here if we don’t have the snitch.’

‘So what, you want me to leave?’ Draco snaps, though inside he’s rather hopeful that Urquhart will say yes.

He’s bloody cold damnit, and if they don’t start moving soon he’s going to freeze over. Besides, Potter’s stupid antics in the air have irritated him. Surely Pomfrey hasn’t approved him for flying yet? Three days ago the stupid sod could barely stand up let alone operate a broom in mid-air.

‘No,’ says Urquhart. ‘But, well, you _are_ partners with him. Couldn’t you get him to give it back? Preferably without a fight. I’d rather us not lose more house points.’

Draco sighs heavily. ‘Whatever,’ he mutters. ‘But you lot owe me.’

He ignores the smug look on Blaise’s face—he’ll decide how to punish the irritable sod later—and stomps through the grass after Potter.

He props his broom against the inside of the door, stuffs his numb fingers into the shallow pockets of his quidditch trousers and goes in search of the idiotic Gryffindor.

Draco finds him by the change rooms, hanging up a coat on a peg.

‘You should take more care with your things,’ says Potter in that same flat tone, not bothering to turn around.

Draco blinks. Then he realises it’s _his_ coat Potter is hanging up.

‘I’ll do what I want with my things, thank you Potter,’ says Draco, almost on reflex.

He can’t help it. For six years he’s watched Potter—hell for two months they’ve spent more time together than Draco has ever spent with anyone else—yet Draco has never seen him like this; and he reacts on instinct, pulling his guard up before realising he’s even done it, unsure of this new version of Potter.

Potter turns around. ‘Oh?’ he says, and there’s a slight challenge in his voice.

The hunger is still there in Potter’s eyes, but there’s something else, something that makes Potter tense as a coiled spring. Something that makes Draco wary.

‘Look,’ he says, crossing his arms. ‘I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing. I need the snitch.’

Potter cocks his head. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the little golden ball and considers it.

‘What will you give me for it?’ he asks, his gaze flickering over to Draco.

‘Give you?’

Potter nods. ‘Well, like you said. I can do what I like with my things. And right now, this snitch is mine. Why should I give it to you?’

Draco frowns. ‘Because we have the pitch booked for practice. And I need it.’

Potter shrugs and leans back against the wall. ’That doesn’t really affect me.’

Draco has a strange sensation of their roles being reversed. For the last several weeks, it’s been Potter asking _him_ for what he wants and Draco being the aloof, reluctant one. Now, he struggles to find a response to this sharp eyed creature that’s replaced the normally compliant Gryffindor.

He grits his teeth. ‘I could just take it,’ he says, but his words don’t have the sting that they used to and he realises, he really doesn’t want to fight.

Not since the Quidditch match. Not since Potter turned the entire pitch into a lake to save him. Not since he spent a night half sprawled over Potter’s arm.

Something changes in Potter’s expression. The intensity returns and he straightens up, staring at Draco with those burning green eyes.

‘Oh?’ he says again, and that flat tone shifts into something _almost_ like eagerness. ‘Then come and get it.’

Draco takes a step forward, then hesitates. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asks, frowning at Potter. At Harry. ‘What’s going on?’

‘What makes you think there’s something going on?’

Draco raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, I know that you’re not one for following rules, but even _you_ have to admit that was pretty dangerous flying out there.’

‘So?’

‘So, I’m not an idiot. Something’s obviously got you in a twist,’ says Draco, rolling his eyes. ‘Did something happen when you got back to Gryffindor tower?’

Potter’s jaw clenches. He’s not as good as Draco is at hiding his emotions, and Draco knows that he’s found the trigger. That if he keeps pushing at it, Potter will crack, and things will slip out from beneath the mask. But one look at the hurt lingering just beneath the surface of that blank expression and Draco finds that he doesn’t really want to.

So he gives in. He does exactly what Potter wants him to. What he’s _been_ wanting him too. He closes the distance between them and kisses him.

Potter makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Fingers dig in at Draco’s waist and before he has a chance to even think about what he’s doing, Potter is shoving him against the wall. Hard. Draco grunts, shooting Potter a sharp glare before yanking him back for another kiss. Potter presses in close. His hands are in Draco’s hair, his breath hot on his neck chasing away the cold and the confusion and the doubt. He’s deliciously warm, and, despite his usual need to be in control, finds that he’s okay with Potter taking the lead this time. He’s _more_ than okay with it.

His mind jumps back to the fight in the hallway, where he’d snogged Potter against the hallway wall much like this. Sure they’d kissed since then, but not with the same fervour, and Merlin, Draco hadn’t realised how badly he’d wanted to do it again until this moment.

‘So,’ Potter whispers, dropping kisses along Draco’s jaw to whisper in his ear. ‘Is that a yes?’

Draco groans. ‘Do we have to discuss this now?’

Potter grins at him, and it’s feral and wild and heat pools at the base of Draco’s spine.

‘No,’ Potter says, and kisses him again. ‘This is enough.’

Except it’s not enough. Draco knows it’s not. He knows that Potter wants more than this. Has been quietly hoping for days, weeks even, that Draco will change his mind. That he’ll give in to these secret little moments and agree to “take a chance.”

He pulls away. ‘Much as I’m enjoying this,’ he says, annoyed at himself (because he _is_ enjoying it). ‘I better get back to practice before they come looking for me.’

Potter— _Harry_ —sighs and rests his chin on Draco’s shoulder. ‘Stay a bit longer,’ he murmurs, and kisses Draco’s neck. ‘Please.’

Draco lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud, trying to make himself stay focused. Potter’s back is taut under Draco’s hands, the tension coming off him in waves.

‘Just a bit longer,’ Harry asks— _pleads_ —again, hands tightening around Draco’s waist and never before has Draco wanted to ditch out on anything more than he wants to ditch out on Quidditch practice right now.

‘Okay,’ he says, and feels some of the tension bleed out of Harry. ‘But only if you tell me what’s going on.’

Harry’s jaw clenches. He looks away and sighs.

‘Nothing is going on,’ he says.

Draco pushes him back, making Harry meet his gaze. ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t lie.’

Harry swallows, gaze dropping to the floor. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he says, and looks back up at Draco. ‘I just want to forget it happened.’

Draco’s frown only deepens. ‘Alright,’ he says, though he’s not happy about it. ‘As long as you’re okay?’

A small smile quirks Harry’s lips. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Draco’s mouth. A kiss so soft (after the roughness of what they’ve just done) it makes Draco’s knees go weak.

Merlin, when did he become such a _girl_?

‘See,’ says Potter against his lips. ‘I knew you cared.’

Draco rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, shut up,’ he says, and pulls him back in.

A few intense snogs later and Draco pulls away again. ‘I really should go,’ he says reluctantly. ‘They really will come looking.’

Harry groans, but it’s more theatrical than anything else. ‘I suppose,’ he says.

He steps away, but Draco catches his arm. ‘ _Are_ you okay? Really?’

Harry’s expression softens. The intensity, the reckless anger driving him, is gone and there’s a calmness to his eyes now. He offers Draco a small smile.

‘I am now,’ he says, and squeezes Draco’s arm. ‘You better get out there.’

He turns and trudges out toward the castle side exit and Draco watches him go. Emotions swirl through him. Confusion, irritation, worry, arousal.

He rolls his eyes and tries to shake away the disconcerting feelings. He doesn’t succeed. As he heads back out into the cold, collecting the snitch from the floor and his broom from the door, he feels every spot where Potter touched him like a firebrand burning hot along his skin.

Merlin, what the hell was Potter doing to him?


	31. It's A Boy Thing

Chapter Thirty-One

_It’s A Boy Thing_

 

**_Hermione:_ **

Harry stands on the threshold of the Entrance Hall, guarded gaze jumping back and forth between Hermione and Ron.

Beside her, Ron shifts his weight from foot to foot, chewing the inside of his mouth, his hands jammed into his pockets. Hermione shoots him a glare that he (of course) doesn’t notice. Then she jams her elbow into his ribs.

‘Ow,’ he hisses, glancing at her incredulously.

She raises her eyebrows at him and gestures to Harry. ‘Didn’t you want to _say_ something?’ she says pointedly.

‘Oh, er, yeah,’ he says, his tone sheepish, and half cringes at Harry. ‘I, uh, I didn’t mean to— I mean I know I was...look I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know how big a deal this was in the muggle world.’ To emphasise this rather ineloquent statement, Ron gestures vaguely in Harry’s direction.

Somehow, Hermione resists the urge to groan. She gives Harry an exasperated look, hoping he realises that Ron is just being...well, _Ron_.

Harry’s guarded expression doesn’t shift. ‘Okay,’ he says, his voice low.

Ron’s shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out far too quickly for Hermione’s liking. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t realise that “okay” is not the same as “I forgive you.”

‘Right,’ says Ron, nodding hopefully. ‘So, we’re okay then, yeah?’

Harry’s jaw clenches. He glances briefly at Hermione, but looks away before she can even think to send him a reassuring smile.

He shrugs, clearly unhappy, but not wanting to prolong the conversation. ‘Guess that’s up to you,’ he says.

Ron shuffles his feet. ‘Well, yeah,’ he says. ‘I mean, I don’t care, you know? It’s okay if you like blokes.’

Something both familiar and foreign flashes in Harry’s gaze. Familiar because she’s seen that expression many times over the last six years, but foreign in that she’s never seen it on _Harry’s_ face.

‘Glad I have your approval,’ says Harry, and the flippant, caustic way he says the words makes Hermione realise exactly _who_ that expression came from.

For a brief moment, Harry looks like Malfoy.

She stares at him, and then out to the Quidditch Pitch in the distance where she can see the tiny figures in the air and all at once she is absolutely certain that it’s Slytherin quidditch team.

Ron had thought maybe Harry had come out to the pitch to fly and let off some steam, but what if that isn’t the _only_ reason? How well does Harry know Malfoy’s schedule?

Well enough to know that he’d be out playing Quidditch apparently.

‘That’s not...I mean, I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,’ says Ron, casting Hermione a desperate look for help. ‘I just...I’m not going to beat you up like a muggle or anything, okay? I mean, it’s not an issue, right? Shit, I’m not doing this right. Look, can’t I just say I’m sorry and we forget the whole thing?’

Hermione can see the situation dissolving. She realises, too late, that making Ron cone out to apologise was the wrong move. It’s too soon. Harry is still too upset.

For a moment, he looks like he’s going to say no. That Malfoy-like anger lurks in his eyes, and Hermione can’t help it, she has to intervene before this turns into fourth year all over again.

‘You know what he means,’ she says, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. ‘You know we love you no matter what.’

Harry frowns at her, and she thinks—for one heart stopping moment—that she’s gone too far by speaking up. That she’s alienated him from _her_ too. But then he sighs, his shoulders relaxing into a droop as he runs a hand through his hair and glances away. He’s Harry again. _Their_ Harry.

Hermione marvels over that. If this was their Harry, did that mean that the Harry of a few moments ago was Malfoy’s?

Her mind whirls at the implications.

‘Yeah,’ says Harry, his tone more normal, and offers Ron a weak smile. ‘Sure. It’s forgotten.’

Ron sighs loudly in relief. ‘Good,’ he says.

‘He won’t tell anyone, either,’ says Hermione, pointedly glaring at Ron. ‘Will you?’

‘Right! No, no I won’t. That was an accident. With Hermione I mean. I won’t do it again I swear.’

Harry nods. He glances around the hall, and swallows nervously.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Let’s just...let’s just go, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ says Ron relief.

They both turn at the same time, and Hermione steps back out of the way, watching them. They don’t quite fall in together. Ron is still looks too awkward to relax and Harry...Harry is holding back. Hermione frowns and knows that despite what Harry said, nothing has actually been resolved. She sighs and can only hope that things are better in the morning.

____

A week later and things between Ron and Harry are _still_ not any better. Hermione is almost at her wits end, unable to deal with trying to mediate the awkward tension between them.

It’s actually _worse_ than fourth year. At least then she knew what needed to be done. But now...now neither of them will even admit there’s a problem. They just keep dancing around the issue and pretending it doesn’t exist.

Or, in Harry’s case, just flat out running away. Like now, for instance.

‘I’ve...gotta get another book,’ he says.

‘Hm? Okay, do you want a hand?’ she asks, but Harry is already up and speeding toward the shelves.

Hermione blinks and frowns at his almost finished essay and the half a dozen books he already has scattered on the table. Then she spots the real reason for Harry’s abrupt departure.

Ron slouches down into a seat next to Hermione and sighs heavily, dropping his chin into his hand.

‘He’s avoiding me, isn’t he?’ grumbles Ron.

Hermione considers the mess around Harry’s spot at the table.

‘Well, he definitely didn’t need another book,’ she says.

Ron groans. ‘But _why_? I said sorry. I’ve said sorry _multiple_ times.’

‘I know,’ says Hermione, glancing back down at her own essay and redoing a sentence.

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘I don’t know, Ron,’ says Hermione, looking up again in exasperation. ‘Maybe you should ask him.’

Ron scowls. ‘He won’t talk to me! That’s the problem. Has he said anything to you?’

‘No,’ she says, and then, feeling sorry for him she adds, ‘but I haven’t really asked. I don’t think he’s ready to talk about it.’

‘Then what am I supposed to do? You saw what just happened. He makes an excuse to leave or he starts talking to someone else or pretends he has some stupid project to work on with _Malfoy_. He spends more time with bloody Malfoy than he does with me!’

Hermione bites the inside of her mouth. She doesn’t tell Ron what she’s thinking. She certainly doesn’t admit that he’s right; that Harry _is_ spending more time with Malfoy. And that that time is surprisingly cordial. _More_ than cordial. Hermione is starting to wonder if Zabini isn’t right. Harry and Malfoy _are_ friends.

Not that she plans on telling Ron that.

‘I’ve already told you,’ says Hermione, ‘they’re partners, they have to work together.’

‘I know that but—,’

A shrill voice cuts him off. In a wave of too-strong perfume, Lavender flounces down next to Ron at the table. Uninvited. Hermione glowers at her. The small amount of sympathy Hermione had been feeling vanishes at her arrival, and she scowls back down at her parchment, stabbing her quill into the ink pot.

‘Won Won!’ Lavender coos, her fingers brushing through Ron’s hair. ‘There you are, I feel like I haven’t seen you in _days_.’

This is untrue. Hermione knows this is untrue because she had to walk around their make out session this morning to get out of the common room.

It seems, in the absence of Harry, Ron has thrown himself even further into the disgusting display of snogging he calls a relationship. Hermione wrinkles her nose and attempts to block them out.

Well, if he really cared about patching things up with Harry he’d spend more time trying to figure out how to talk to his friend than he spent with his tongue shoved down Lavender’s throat.

‘Ron?’ Lavender asks, her face falling. ‘You okay?’

‘Harry’s avoiding me,’ Ron says morosely to the bookshelves.

Lavender frowns and glances in the direction Ron is staring. ‘I don’t see him?’

‘Yes,’ says Hermione briskly, not looking up. ‘Because he’s _avoiding_ Ron.’

‘Well, that’s not very nice of him,’ says Lavender stoutly, smiling in sympathy at Ron and running her hand through his hair again. ‘You’re wonderful.’

Hermione wants to gag. Or kick Lavender. Somehow she resists the urge to do either.

‘Well, who cares about him anyway? How about tomorrow we go do something fun to take your mind of it?’

Hermione clenches her jaw and focuses on keeping her expression neutral.

‘Like what?’ says Ron as if he’s only half paying attention.

‘Well,’ says Lavender. ‘It _is_ a Hogsmeade weekend. I thought we could go together and get lunch.’

‘Hm. Maybe,’ says Ron, though doesn’t sound at all interested. ‘Harry and I usually check out Honeydukes though...’

‘But you just said he was avoiding you.’

‘Well, he is but...’

‘Great! Then it’s settled. You’ll come with me tomorrow and we’ll have a great time and forget all about Harry.’

Hermione can’t help it. She looks up from her essay. Ron his frowning down at his hands, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He glances across at the empty seat where Harry was sitting and frustration flashes across his face.

‘Alright then,’ he says, turning to Lavender. ‘You’re on.’

Disappointment, anger and hurt pool in Hermione’s stomach. Unable to keep the emotions from her face, she pushes up from the table.

‘Be right back,’ she mutters, and hurries off into the shelves.

God. Ron is just so...Hermione shakes her head. Tears smart her eyes, which only adds to the anger in her belly. Why was she _crying_ for heavens sake? So Ron wanted to spend the day with a girl instead of fixing his friendship with his best friend. That was _his_ stupid decision to make. Maybe she was disappointed, sure, after all she expected more of him. But it certainly wasn’t any reason to cry. She certainly didn’t care who he spent his days with. Why would she? It wasn’t like she—

‘But I _have_ been patient,’ complains Harry.

Hermione stops, glancing around between the bookshelves to see him.

‘I’m tired of being patient,’ he continues, and for a moment Hermione thinks he’s talking about Ron.

She’s about to storm over there and tell him off. Patient? What exactly was _patient_ about running away? But she still can’t see him.

‘I doubt you’ll have to be patient much longer,’ says a familiar, airy voice. ‘After all it’s almost Christmas.’

Harry chuckles low and soft. ‘Let me guess, there’s some magical creature that loves christmas that’s going to make all my troubles go away?’

‘Oh no,’ says Luna. ‘Nargles are _horrendous_ at Christmas time. It’s all the tinsel. You _are_ wearing the charm I gave you aren’t you?’

‘Every day,’ says Harry, a smile in his voice. ‘Though if I’m honest, I mostly only wear it because he does.’

He adds this last part in a soft, embarrassed tone, and Hermione freezes, stunned by the realisation that Harry is talking about a boy. A boy he _likes_.

‘I tried to make them matching,’ says Luna in agreement, ‘after all, you two were getting no where.’

Harry laughs again. ‘We’re still getting no where. I feel like I’m getting whiplash with all this back and forth.’

‘Oh of course you are,’ says Luna. ‘You just can’t see it because of your glasses. But _he_ can. He told me so.’

‘Wait, he did? What did he say?’

The hope in his voice is almost tangible. Something clicks in Hermione’s mind. _Now_ she understands why he’s avoiding Ron. It’s one thing for Harry to admit that he’s gay, but there is no way Ron wouldn’t struggle with the idea that Harry might already have a boyfriend.

‘Hm. Various things,’ says Luna, drawing Hermione out of her thoughts.

‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’

‘That wouldn’t be very friendly,’ says Luna. ‘I think you should wait until Christmas time. I always find that people often realise what they really want at Christmas.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ says Harry.

The conversation goes quiet, and by the time Hermione comes around the corner of the bookshelves they’re both gone.

She finds Harry back at their table (Ron has disappeared somewhere with Lavender) finishing off his essay. There’s a small smile on his face as he works, and Hermione pauses before she joins him at the table.

She watches him, and she knows why Ron was so upset—feels her own hurt constricting her chest. She wants to _talk_ to him about this. She wants to be the one he goes to when he’s embarrassed or confused, and she wonders what she’s done wrong that he didn’t feel comfortable to come to her. That he went to Ginny, and now Luna, with his worries.

She sighs, and buries her hurt, hoping that—when he’s ready—he’ll come to her too.

She heads over to the table, and as she sits down Harry glances up offering her a smile.

‘Hey,’ he says, and gestures to his parchment. ‘Think I actually did a good job. You might be proud of me.’

‘I’m always proud of you Harry,’ she says.

He blinks at her. A blush swarms up his neck and he ducks his head, a small grin on his face and she realises that maybe she doesn’t tell him that enough. Maybe _no one_ tells him that enough?

They fall into a comfortable silence, and even though she’s resolved to wait until he’s ready, she can’t help but wonder.

Who is it Harry is dating?


	32. Good Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been feeling a lot better lately and, encouraged by all the lovely reviews you amazing people have left me, I wanted to get something out nice and quick. It wasn't quite what I'd planned, but I hope you enjoy it. Thanks so much for sticking with me guys, you're all awesome.

Chapter Thirty-Two

_Good Friends_

 

**_Neville:_ **

Professor McGonagall looks up just long enough to see Neville standing in the doorway, before refocusing back on the documents in front of her. Neville shifts his weight from foot to foot, nervously waiting just inside the doorway.

‘Longbottom,’ she says, turning a page over. ‘Sit down.’

Neville swallows and nods, almost tripping on his way to the chair opposite her. She continues with her work for several tense moments, leaving Neville no choice but to glance around her office, feeling very much like he’s sweating through his robes.

He’s studying one of the cat portraits on her wall when she glances up at him from over her glasses and frowns.

‘Why aren’t you—ah, sorry, Longbottom,’ she shakes her head, and pulls a sheaf of paper from between her stacks. ‘I thought I’d laid this out. Professor Sprout wrote this on your behalf.’

Neville straightens and reaches out to take the paper. Professor Sprout’s familiar cursive curls across the parchment.

_Minerva,_

_Neville Longbottom continues to show outstanding promise in the field of Herbology, as such I would like to extend to him the opportunity to oversee the growth of one of the more overlooked greenhouses—with your permission of course._

_With your knowledge of his schedule and abilities, I leave the decision in your capable hands._

_Pomona._

For a moment Neville has to be sure he’s really awake. As subtly as he can, he gives his arm a pinch.

‘Congratulations are in order, Mr Longbottom,’ Professor McGonagall says, peering over her glasses at him. ‘You may start your extra work in Greenhouse Four in your free periods and in the evenings, but be sure to be back in Gryffindor tower before curfew and stay on top of your homework and assignments.’

Neville almost doesn’t hear the last half of her speech. ‘Four?’ he says. ‘But that’s…that’s the rare species house.’

‘I suggest you study up then.’

He’s not sure what he wants to do more, write to his Nan and tell her about this honour, to make her _proud_ ; or to race down to the greenhouse and see what’s there, what needs to be done.

‘Can…can I go now?’ he asks, butterflies swirling in his stomach.

McGonagall smiles expectantly. ‘I thought you might say that,’ she says, her voice just as stern as ever, but there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of her eyes. ‘I assigned Potter and Malfoy to clean up the weeds and overgrown plants in preparation for your assignment. Let them know their detention is finished when you go down.’

‘I—sure, this is…thank you!’ Neville says and his mind is reeling.

He has his own greenhouse. He has his _own_ greenhouse!

He doesn’t run. He even manages to keep the skip in his step to a minimum as he heads down to the Entrance Hall.

Neville’s been in the exotic greenhouses once before, but to have it under his care? To take his time to go through the plants and get to know them and watch them flourish? Jitters shiver up his spine and he doesn’t even bother trying to conceal his goofy smile. He bounces passed the Great Hall where dinner is just wrapping up—leaving him with several hours before curfew to really explore his new assignment.

The night air is cool and crisp and Neville winds his way around the side of the castle, so excited he has to take extra care not to trip and fall on his face. Not that he’d care if he did. For the first time he feels like even falling won’t stop him. He’s full to bursting with pride.

He’s so wrapped up in these thoughts that as he pushes his way into the vine covered door of Greenhouse Four he forgets that it isn’t empty.

Though the sky outside is darkening, several lanterns float above the various plants, casting a soft yellow glow into the green depths. Instantly, Neville feels the presence of this place. The natural magic given off by several of the plants (especially left alone as they have been to become overgrown and unruly). He knows he’s going to have his hands full, just off the thick, crackling atmosphere of the air.

There are a lot of plants in here with attitude.

Then, almost as if to break the spell, laughter echoes out from further within the building. Neville blinks into the dusk-like light, remembering that he’s not alone.

Careful of the reaching branches and exploding pot-plants, Neville shuffles further into the gloom of the building. He wants to call out to Harry, to let them know he’s there, but at the same time the atmosphere of the greenhouse keeps him quiet. A soft reverence that fills him, and he reaches out to touch a leaf, whispering a soft greeting as he does so, unable to muster the courage to break the hush over the building.

‘—mess as usual,’ comes Malfoy’s voice. ‘You’re supposed to be making it better, not worse.’

‘Oh shut up,’ Harry chuckles. ‘You’re just jealous.’

Malfoy scoffs. ‘I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.’

‘Because it’s true,’ says Harry, a smugness to his voice. ‘Obviously the plants like me better than you.’

‘They’re _plants_.’

‘Yeah,’ says Harry. ‘But Neville says a lot of magical plants respond to feelings. And you’re a grumpy old fart, so it’s no wonder they like me best.’

‘A grumpy…Oh you asked for it now, Potter!’

Neville comes around the corner of a rather thick trunked sapling just in time to see Malfoy smear soil over the side of Harry’s face. Harry sputters, green eyes blinking at the Slytherin in shock, before he erupts into laughter.

Malfoy, to Neville’s shock, is grinning. ‘Look at that, I think I actually improved your looks,’ he says.

Harry’s chuckle shifts tone. ‘Oh really?’ he says, and grabs the front of Malfoy’s shirt. ‘Let’s see how you like it up close then?’

Before Neville can even think to speak up, Harry pulls Malfoy close and presses their lips together. The force of the tug surprises Malfoy, and his foot catches on a stray tree root, sending Malfoy staggering into Harry. They’re thrown off balance and the two of them go crashing into the ground.

‘Merlin Potter, you are a walking catastrophe,’ groans Malfoy, but there’s a smile on his face that Neville has never seen before. He leans down and finishes the kiss that Harry started.

The kiss. They’re… _kissing_.

Neville is stuck. Shock seizes him and he knows he needs to get away, _fast_ , before either of them realise he’s there but his brain can’t seem to send the message to the rest of his stupid frozen body.

As usual, all his thoughts scramble in a panic, and when the message does finally get through, his legs jump start ahead of the rest of him. He turns sharply, unprepared for the sudden motion, and walks straight into a table lined with delicate soil testing tubes. He cringes as they go scattering across the table.

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

There’s a sudden quiet behind him followed by a frenzied scrambling. Neville doesn’t want to turn around. He doesn’t want to face them.

‘N-Neville?’

‘Erm,’ says Neville to the table. ‘I…McGonagall wanted me to tell you detention is over,’ he says, and then because he can’t think of any other way to make the situation better, he pushes away from the table and flees.

Any excitement over the prospect of getting to know the exotic plants is quashed by despair. Whatever was going on just now had obviously been _private_ , and there he was watching them like a peeping tom. God, they were going to be furious with him.

Why did he have to be such a klutz?

He’s almost at the door to the greenhouse when Harry calls out after him. Panic overwhelms Neville and before he has a chance to think about what he’s doing he dives between a couple of large, bulbous purple blossoms by the greenhouse door. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays that they won’t see him.

‘Erm...Neville?’ comes Harry’s uncertain voice. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘Hiding.’

‘But...’ Harry trails off. ‘Um...Is that plant chewing on your arm?’

‘Yes,’ Neville whimpers. ‘It hurts.’

A hand closes around Neville’s arm and pulls him free of the flowers (which weren’t really trying to eat him, they were just curious). Neville sighs as the offending bulbous flower releases his arm without hassle. His robes are soaked through with a pungent smelling slime, but that’s nothing to the discomfort he knows he’s about to face.

‘Thanks Harry,’ he says softly and looks up into the unimpressed face of _Malfoy_.

Neville gulps, almost tripping backwards into the plants.

Malfoy merely raises an eyebrow at him. Somehow, unkempt and with the dirt smeared across his face, he still manages to terrify Neville.

There’s a moment of tense silence and Neville just wants to shrink back into the foliage, carnivorous flowers or not.

‘So, um. How’s your arm?’ asks Harry.

‘Oh, fine,’ says Neville, shrugging and unable to look Harry in the face. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve been bitten by a plant.’

‘Why does that not surprise me,’ says Malfoy dryly and when no one else says anything he sighs and continues. ‘Much as I’d _love_ to stay and watch you feed yourself to a plant, this situation seems to be causing Potter here some distress. So, how about you try not to become plant food, and we figure out what it’s gonna cost for you to stay quiet about all of this.’

Neville blinks stupidly at him. ‘Er, what?’

Malfoy shoots Harry an exasperated look. ‘Honestly, are all you Gryffindor’s this thick?’

Harry nudges him. ‘Stop it,’ he says softly but keeps his gaze steadily on his shoes.

Malfoy just rolls his eyes and looks at Neville expectantly.

Neville gulps. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he blurts. ‘I didn’t mean to—I mean, I was trying—I wasn’t _spying_ , okay? McGonagall said I could come and look at the greenhouse if I told you your detention was over so I wasn’t trying to, to, to interrupt…or anything. I wasn’t spying.’

They both stare at him. Malfoy with increasing incredulity and Harry in surprise.

‘Of course you weren’t spying,’ says Malfoy. ‘Merlin, you’d be the worst bloody spy in the world.’

Harry sighs in exasperation and gives Malfoy a look. ‘Do you have to be so insulting?’

‘What, you want me to say he’d be a _good_ spy?’

‘I—no, I just…it’s not _Neville’s_ fault.’

‘I didn’t say it was,’ says Malfoy, and he turns that sharp blue gaze back on Neville. ‘Well? What do you want?’

Neville tries not to gulp again. ‘I don’t want anything,’ he says.

Which is mostly true. Although, he’d give almost anything to be out of this situation right now, but he has a feeling that’s not an option.

‘Everyone wants something,’ says Malfoy. ‘What’s your price? I’m sure I can have whatever plant your green little heart desires shipped here within a week. Name it and I’ll get it.’

Neville frowns. ‘You…you want to buy me a plant?’

‘Ye-es. For your silence.’

‘My…’ confusion finally wins out over the discomfort and the fear. ‘I’m sorry, I’m confused. Why do you need to buy my silence?’

‘I know that this might seem…strange,’ says Harry, glancing up at Neville and then across at Malfoy. ‘But, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything. I know you don’t have any reason not to. Especially with how Draco can…er, but um, you know, if you could maybe just keep it to yourself…that is, if we’re…if we’re still friends?’

Realisation hits Neville like a stampeding hippogriff. ‘Of course we’re still friends,’ he says, dumbfounded that Harry could think otherwise. ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

Harry blinks, eyes wide and bright and hopeful. ‘Well,’ he says, cheeks flushing red as he shoots another quick glance over at Malfoy. ‘I mean…’

‘I think what Potter is trying to say,’ says Malfoy in that clipped, sarcastic tone. ‘Is that Potter and I snogging in the dirt isn’t exactly going to please most people.’

‘Oh my god,’ Harry mutters and runs a hand nervously through his already mussed up hair. ‘Do you have to say it like that?’

‘How else would you like me to say it?’

‘Well I don’t know, just, not like _that_.’

‘Very eloquent.’

‘Oh shut up.’

‘No, really,’ says Malfoy, turning to look down at Harry, ‘the poets should come to you for advice.’

Harry glares at him, his face turning even more crimson, until he turns, scoops up a handful of fertiliser from a nearby pot and dumps it over Malfoy’s head.

Neville just gapes at them. He’s waiting for Malfoy to crack, to start shouting and throwing curses, but instead the boy just shakes free most of the fertiliser and smirks at Harry.

‘Finally,’ he says, brushing his fingers through his fringe. ‘There’s the Potter we all know and adore.’

Harry sputters. ‘I—you— _god_. You are such an arse sometimes. Why can’t you ever just cheer people up the conventional way.’

‘What, like someone _common_?’

‘Oh here we go,’ says Harry rolling his eyes. ‘You and your superiority complex.’

Malfoy smirks. ‘Glad you’ve worked out that I’m your superior.’

‘I’m going to dump more soil on your head.’

‘Do it, and see how far you get with me next time you want someone to snog.’

‘You can’t just use that as a bargaining chip for everything, you know.’

Neville, sensing that this argument might go on for some time, tries to creep backwards a step.

‘I can if it works,’ says Malfoy and then pins his gaze on Neville, freezing him in place. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘I…er…this seemed like a uh, a private…thing,’ Neville falters and swallows hard, wishing very much that he’d chosen to write to his Gran instead of investigate the greenhouse.

‘Oh leave off him,’ Harry says, and shoves Malfoy’s shoulder.

‘Why should I? We haven’t yet established if he’s trustworthy or not?’

‘Of course he’s trustworthy,’ says Harry. ‘He’s Neville.’

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. ‘Two minutes ago you were freaking out thinking he was going to tell everyone.’

‘I…well, not because he’d _tell_ anyone, just…’ Harry glances at Neville and runs a hand through his hair again. ‘I didn’t want you to hate me.’

Neville blinks. ‘Hate you? I would never hate you, Harry.’

‘Merlin, Potter, even _I_ can figure that much out. Longbottom is about as aggressive as a puppy.’

‘Oh, you mean the opposite of you?’ Harry quips and Malfoy shoves him.

Glancing between them, Neville feels some of the bafflement drain away. Malfoy still makes him nervous but there’s something about the way they’re interacting that—although they’re bickering—is different from before.

It takes Neville a moment to realise what it is, but when he does he wonders that he didn’t see it earlier. There’s no hostility. They’re arguing, yes, but it’s almost like they’re having fun. There’s a faint smile tugging at Harry’s lips, and a gleam in Malfoy’s eyes, like they’re playing some strange game trying to see who can out-insult the other. Yet none of the insults are serious. They don’t mean them. Even Malfoy’s voice isn’t as barbed or cutting as it used to be.

‘Well if we’re quite done here,’ says Malfoy, brushing a stray speck of dirt off his robes. ‘I have better things to do than stand around gossiping with Gryffindors.’

Harry snorts. ‘Oh yeah,’ he mutters. ‘Says the biggest gossip of them all.’

Before Malfoy can retort, he turns to Neville and offers him a small smile. ‘Sorry again, about all this,’ he says, gesturing vaguely around. ‘We’ll let you look around. Congrats, by the way. On the greenhouse. You must be really proud.’

Despite the surrealness of the last ten minutes, Neville finds himself smiling. ‘Thanks, Harry. I am.’

Harry grins. He turns and starts to push Malfoy toward the door.

‘Oi! Who the hell said you could man-handle me, Potter?’

‘Just showing off my backbone, like you said,’ Harry quips, and winks at Neville as they pass.

Malfoy mutters obscenities and curses, but goes willingly and without any actual resistance. Neville can only watch in awe, stunned at this strange compliance from the usually intolerant Slytherin.

Harry just laughs and shoves him through the door. He pauses, though, and glances back at Neville.

‘Thanks, Neville,’ he says in a soft voice.

Neville blinks. ‘What for?’ he asks in bemusement.

‘For being a good friend.’ The blush returns to Harry’s face, stronger than ever, and then—before Neville can reply—he disappears out the door after Malfoy.

Neville turns back to the greenhouse spread out before him, beaming so wide he wonders that it doesn’t split his face. Pride swells in his chest, and—with renewed confidence—he heads into his new domain, sure that nothing will top this night (it’s oddities and all) in quite some time.


	33. Ghosts of Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry is drunk, Draco is desperate, and Myrtle is envious.

Chapter Thirty-Three

_Ghosts of Christmas_

 

**_Myrtle:_ **

The door to the second floor out-of-order bathroom creaks open and Myrtle sighs, wondering who has come wandering into her domain to torture her this time.

Someone chuckles, a low timbre voice muttering something she can’t hear, and a second person shushes the first. Fury wells up in Myrtle’s chest. Boys. There are _boys_ in her bathroom.

She raises herself up out of her stall to get a better look at them, trying to decide whether or not she should hide or attempt to scare them off. Boy’s taunts were always the worst.

There’s another low mumble that she can’t hear, followed by a chuckle that sets her ire burning.

‘Merlin, Potter, _shut up_ ,’ hisses the second boy, shoving the first further into the bathroom. ‘He’s still out there.’

Potter? Myrtle blinks and leans up over the stall wall to take a closer look at them.

‘You know this is a _girls_ bathroom,’ says the first boy.

The first boy with messy, thick black hair and bright, emerald coloured eyes rimmed by thin wire frames. Harry Potter. A faint flicker of something like a heartbeat flutters in Myrtle’s chest as delight swarms through her. _Harry_. _Her_ Harry.

‘Yes, idiot,’ says the other boy, _shoving_ her Harry further into the bathroom and casting a nervous look over his shoulder.

‘But—’

The blond boy turns back to Harry, putting his hand over Harry’s mouth to cut off any further talking. ‘Hush.’

Harry goes quiet, green eyes wide behind his glasses as the other boy stands far to close to him.

The blond glances over his shoulder at the door again, and it’s so quiet in the room Myrtle can here the familiar comforting gurgle of the broken toilet in the second last stall.

A moment later, shuffling footsteps sound outside the door, and Myrtle can recognise the limping gait of the Caretaker of Hogwarts.

She contemplates calling out, giving the boys away and making them leave her sanctity, but…it’s been _so long_ since Harry has come to visit her and as she peers over the edge of the stall at him it’s clear that he’s only grown more attractive in that time.

‘Okay,’ says the blond, stepping back from Harry. ‘I think he’s gone.’

‘Stupid Filch,’ Harry mumbles, and drops his head onto the other boy’s shoulder. ‘Hm. You smell good.’

The blond flushes. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘Mm. You still smell good.’

‘How much of that punch did you have?’

‘Mmm, two glasses? Maybe three?’ Harry tilts his head to look up at the boy, but doesn’t stop leaning on him.

They stumble and the blond has to brace himself against the sinks so they don’t go tumbling over onto the ground.

‘Bloody—I’m going to _kill_ Zabini.’

Harry leans further into the blond. ‘You really do smell good.’

‘Merlin, Potter, would you—mpff!’

Myrtle gasps, ducking down from the edge of the stall in shock, sure that her eyes are misleading her, that _her_ Harry hadn’t just…with his lips…with _that_ boy…

She creeps back up and, ‘oh!’ she squeaks and almost ducks back down. _Almost_. But she can’t look away. After all, it’s lonely being a teenage ghost, and no one ever kissed _her_ the way Harry is currently kissing the blond boy.

He has his hands in the boy’s hair, messing up the slicked back strands, as he presses their mouths together once, twice, three times. One of them groans. The blond pulls away, but only for a moment, and Harry is pulling him back, muttering, ‘don’t stop,’ against his lips, swallowing up any chance of protest.

Myrtle is riveted to the spot. She can’t move. If she could blush, her face would be redder than ripened radish. Despite embarrassment, she can’t but imagine it’s _her_ down there. Her hair Harry’s fingers are sliding through, her neck he’s peppering kisses along, her ears he’s whispering soft words into, her shirt he’s pulling open, a hand slipping down to—

The blond boy jerks back, blue eyes wide, ‘wait, wait, just,’ he pauses, panting, staring hard at Harry.

Harry blinks. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I—you…Potter, you’re drunk.’

‘So?’

‘So…you’re not…we can’t…This isn’t a good idea.’

Harry frowns and presses closer again, trapping the blond between him and the sinks. ‘That’s never stopped you before.’

‘You’ve never been drunk before,’ he says, and despite his protests, he doesn’t push Harry away.

Myrtle doesn’t blame him, she wouldn’t either. Not if Harry was pressed against _her_.

‘Isn’t this why you followed me out here?’ says Harry in a soft voice, turning his face into the blond’s neck.

‘I…’

‘Why else would you leave the party?’

The blond swallows and closes his eyes. ‘Because it was awful?’

Harry grins. ‘Is that a question?’

The blond clears his throat and looks away. ‘Look, Potter…’

‘I saw the way you looked at me when I was caught under the mistletoe with Luna,’ says Harry. ‘You were jealous.’

The blond scoffs and finally manages to wriggle away from Harry. ‘I’m not _jealous_ , Potter,’ he snaps, running a hand through his now messy hair.

Harry leans back against the sinks, arms crossed and pouting. ‘Then why’d you follow me?’

‘Oh for fucks—I followed you because Zabini spiked the damn punch and you had _three glasses_! And because I _figured_ you wouldn’t want to be caught staggering down the halls after curfew by Filch or Snape.’

‘So what if they did? I was at Slughorn’s stupid party. Ask anyone. You were there, you saw me.’

‘Yes, and that would be fine, if you weren’t _drunk_.’

‘So what? That’s what I have you for. You’ll protect me.’

‘I…Merlin…’ the blond runs a hand through his hair, his face flushing red. ‘Why do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Just…you’re so…’

Harry tilts his head. He pushes off from the sink, closing the distance between them in two short—if wobbly—strides. ‘Hot?’ he says into the other boy’s ear. ‘Snoggable?’

The boy groans. ‘No,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘Drunk.’

Harry sighs, and drops his head onto the boy’s shoulder and groans. ‘You’re so frustrating.’

‘ _I’m_ frustrating?’

‘Yes!’ says Harry, taking two steps backwards.

He stumbles, and almost falls, but the blond is there with a steadying hand, keeping him upright. Harry shrugs him off.

‘I’m fine,’ he snaps. ‘God. You _are_ frustrating! You and all your, your…your fucking mixed signs—signals!—driving me in-in— _crazy_. How can you be such a complete asshole, and yet so…so…I dunno just, _you_. You insult me, but somehow, that makes me laugh. What the fuck is wrong with me? And what the fuck is wrong with you? And why, why do you _smell so good_.’

‘Well maybe if you took a hint, and stopped _throwing_ yourself at me—‘

‘Oh so it’s my fault that you’re an obnock-obnox- a god damn _flirt_?’

‘If you recall, I tried to stop this. _Several_ _times_. You’re the one who keeps insisting on keeping up this stupid crush. Why can’t you just let it go?’

Harry steps forward, closing the distance between them, only this time the tension is entirely different. ‘Why can’t _you_? All your, your mean words and nasty comments, but it’s _you_ pretending not hold my hand in class. _You_ finding ex-excuses to spend time with me. Getting us in detention. _Looking_ at me like that. God damn it, Draco, what am I _supposed_ to do? I can’t fucking help it!’

‘Well neither can I!’

They stare at each other. The tension builds, shifts, and then they’re kissing again. It’s a desperate sort of kissing. Like they’re afraid they’ll change their minds, and they’re awkward and uncoordinated. They knock heads twice and Harry laughs, leaning heavily on the other boy as he looses his balance.

Myrtle frowns. It’s a strange thing. It doesn’t really _look_ enjoyable, but, then again, they’re both smiling.

‘Merlin, you _are_ hopeless,’ mutters Draco, rubbing his forehead.

‘Shut up,’ says Harry. ‘You’re not allowed to be mean to me, it’s Christmas. And I’m drunk.’

Draco snorts and flicks Harry in the head. ‘Hopeless,’ he repeats.

Despite her confusion, Myrtle sighs enviously. ‘I wish I had a boyfriend.’

The reaction is immediate. The boys spring apart, recoiling like they’ve been burnt. They turn toward her, eyes searching, and she squeaks, ducking back down behind the bathroom stall.

‘Jesus, fuck,’ gasps Harry. ‘ _Myrtle_? What the—were you _spying_ on us?’

She winces, cursing her habit of voicing her thoughts. The Bloody Baron was _always_ berating her for the habit. It was one of the main reasons the other ghosts didn’t like hanging around her much.

‘Who the hell is Myrtle?’ asks the Draco boy.

‘Er, she’s a ghost. She died in here fifty years ago,’ says Harry. ‘Myrtle? Come out, please?’

‘Oh, fucking great. A _ghost_? We’re screwed.’

’Sh! Myrtle, will you please come out?’

Myrtle twists her hands in her shirt hem. ‘Are you going to yell at me?’ she asks.

‘I…no,’ says Harry, his voice softening. ‘You just…startled us. That’s all.’

Slowly Myrtle peeks her head out of the closed bathroom stall. The two boys blink back at her.

‘I didn’t mean to spy,’ she says, shrugging. ‘But it’s been so long since anyone came in here…’

Harry nods. ‘I, yeah. Um. Look, about what you saw. I, er, could you maybe—‘

‘Oh for Merlin’s sake, Potter,’ says Draco, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. ‘You really need to get better at this. Look, Myrtle, was it? We’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.’

Myrtle blinks, looking between them. At the vivid red blush across both their faces. Embarrassment that she was no longer capable of feeling. Not the way _they_ did. Her blood didn’t swarm under her skin, didn’t heat her cheeks or burn her ears. A twinge of something cold and nasty coils in her stomach, and she bites at her lip.

‘Well, that depends,’ she says sulkily.

‘On?’ asks Harry, his voice expectant and full of dread.

‘On whether or not you agree to come visit me.’

‘Um, what?’ asks Draco.

Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t look surprised. His shoulders sag, and he runs a hand through his hair, shooting Draco a quick look that Myrtle can’t interpret.

‘I…er, we’ll try our best,’ says Harry weakly but Myrtle gives him a hard look, shooting forward to get right up in his face (she only wishes she could get in his face like _Draco_ had).

‘You better do better than _that_ ,’ she says sharply. ‘After all, us ghosts can get quite lonely. Sometimes we like to share stories about the interesting things that happen to us. There’s so little that’s interesting that happens in here—‘

Draco snorts. ‘I’ll bet,’ he mutters, and Harry elbows him in the ribs.

‘Who knows who I’ll tell?’ says Myrtle, pretending she didn’t hear him.

‘Alright, Myrtle,’ says Harry. ‘We get it. I’ll come visit you, okay? Not all the time, mind. I have class, and detention, and quidditch. But I’ll…I’ll come by at least…um, once a week?’

Myrtle eyes him for a long moment, and he shuffles uncomfortably. ‘Both of you,’ she says.

‘Um, what?’

‘I want both of you to come. At least once a week. Together.’

‘Er,’ Harry glances sideways at Draco.

Draco rolls his eyes and once again runs a hand through his hair. ‘Yeah, alright,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Why the fuck not? But this isn’t some sort of pervy ghost show, okay? We agree to come and visit you, or whatever, but that’s it.’

Myrtle pouts. ‘I suppose that’s okay,’ she says.

Draco snorts. ‘It better be,’ he says and shakes his head, glancing at Harry. ‘Only you could end up getting black mailed by a bloody ghost, Potter.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of smut for you seeing as the next two chapters (which are almost finished!) are a bit more serious. 
> 
> Things should start to pick back up again, updates wise, so keep an eye out. I'm hoping to be back on regular weekly updates, if not more. As always, thanks for sticking with me, you guys rock, and I love that you love this story as much as I do!

**Author's Note:**

> **An answer to some questions:**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Will/when are you finishing this story?  
> **  
>  Despite my health issues at the moment (which should hopefully start clearing up around March), I fully intend to finish this story. I’m doing NaNo this November and hope to get out at least 25,000 words to this story. 
> 
> **Will you go through to seventh year?  
> **  
>  Yes. In keeping with usual HP tradition I hope to wrap things up towards/just after the end of 7th year. There probably won’t be an epilogue.
> 
>  **Do you have the story plotted out?  
> **  
>  While I do have a pretty good idea of where the story is going and how it’ll end, for the most part it’s just mapped out in my head. I generally don’t plan/plot my stories (fan fiction or original). It’s not a strong skill of mine and I usually find plotting more frustrating than helpful so other than having a solid ending in mind, I tend to just forgo any serious plotting.
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to send me any other questions and I’ll either answer them here in this end note or in the next chapter note. I don’t respond to reviews for a multitude of reasons, but I do read every single one and I am extremely grateful.


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